Shadows in Flames
by ValleyA
Summary: A pyromaniac is after Peter Caine and soon it involves most of the detectives at the 101st
1. Chapter 1

**"Shadows in Flames"**

**Title:** "Shadows in Flames"

**Author:** ValleyA

**Disclaimer:** KFTLC and its myriad of characters belong to Michael Sloan and others. Wish they were mine deep sigh but alas I am only playing with them and must give them back when I am done. Hehehe, but I didn't say what condition they'd be in when I gave them back. VEG

**Canon Characters:** Peter Caine, Paul Blaisdell, Annie Blaisdell, Kermit Griffin, Kelly Blain, Mary Margaret Skalany, Jody Powell, Roger Chin, Blake, and Sgt. Broderick

**Original Characters:** Willie Stamper, George Temper, Bob McMasters, and a variety of medical and emergency personnel (well, this is one of my stories, so medical personnel is a given GG)

**Rating:** R for violence and language (warning: there is blood and injury in this story. If that disturbs you, stop reading right now VEG)

**Archiving:** My stories at my website: /valsmusings , at , and at Cindy's multifandom website: /KFTLC/

**Word Count: **63,510

**Synopsis:** A pyromaniac is after Peter and soon it involves most of the detectives at the 101st

**Special Thanks:** To those who read beta read this story a few years ago in its earlier incarnation and for those who read it more than once. Your insights and support have earned you a special place in my heart. I dedicate this story to you and all that I've learned from you. Of course, any mistakes found are all mine. I really can't believe I'm actually posting this story. It only took five years from start to finish sigh

But as they say, never say never! Hope you enjoy it!

**"Shadows in Flames"**

**by ValleyA**

**Chapter One**

**(Set approximately one month after Return of the Shadow Assassin)**

Peter was speeding, trying to beat the rush hour traffic, even though he knew his last minute stop at the florist had doomed him to gridlock. Glancing around, he grumbled at the number of cars on the road for a late Friday afternoon, even using the rural shortcut from his foster mother's home to his apartment hadn't saved him much time.

"Geez, why can't people just stick to the main highways when I need them to?" he asked aloud, then smirked. "Because they're just doing the same thing I'm doing, taking a shortcut to get home faster. Come on, people, move it!"

Gesturing with one hand at the traffic ahead of him, he sighed and dropped his hand to pound the top of the steering wheel. It was hard to corral his frustration – he needed to take a deep breath, but he was so looking forward to spending the weekend with Kelly. He glanced at his watch and cringed. Kelly was going to be pissed at him big time. Again. Sometimes, it seemed like he couldn't do anything right for her, but this trip to the cabin would go a long ways toward mending the broken fences of their relationship.

After a few maddening minutes, the traffic began to thin out to practically nothing. "Now, we're talking," he said with a smile.

He could finally make up some lost time. Luckily, Kelly's 1968 candy apple red Mustang had plenty of power. His Stealth was in the shop and he planned to pick it up on the following Monday. He started to speed up, but a older model blue Chevy came out of nowhere and passed him on the narrow two lane back road. It moved back into the lane in front of Peter – and promptly dropped down to forty miles an hour, even though the speed limit was fifty-five.

Cursing under his breath, Peter stewed for a minute, then whipped around the car, passing it after they were clear of a blind curve. "Damn! I should have left work at noon and we'd already be up at the cabin!"

Apparently, the driver of the slow-moving sedan took offense to Peter's passing, because he flashed his headlights several times, waved obscene gestures, and then proceeded to ride on the rear bumper of Peter's car – or more specifically the bumper of Kelly's car. The sudden burst of speed the old Chevy used to catch up so quickly surprised Peter. That thing had some real power under its hood.

Peter glared at the reflection of the bald man behind the wheel in the rearview mirror. He thought about flashing his lights and siren to pull the jerk over. Kelly's car had the same setup as his Stealth as far as sirens, loudspeaker, and lights, but then common sense won out. He wasn't about to let one idiot with overactive road rage spoil his plans with Kelly, mostly because any time spent writing him up would negate the time he'd just saved by using the shortcut home.

The thought of Kelly's disappointment again caused his thoughts to drift. It had taken nearly a month for him to arrange for the time off for their trip and it wasn't easy. He'd spent many long hours clearing open case files from his desk while worrying over Kelly at home and Paul at work. Both Paul and Kelly had suffered at the hands of the Shadow Assassins – simply because of their association with him, but he'd sworn to make it up to them, to both of them. First, Kelly with the getaway to the Blaisdells' cabin, then a weekend fishing trip with Paul.

He shuddered as he remembered how close he'd come to losing them to the Shadow Assassins. Those murderers had taken his lover, Kira Blakemore from his life, but they didn't kill Kelly. It was only through the intervention of Peter's father, Kwai Chang and Lo Si that she lived.

Kelly had tried to act like she'd moved past her brush with death, but Peter could tell she was still recovering emotionally from the incident. That was exactly why this trip to the cabin had been a top priority for both of them. They needed some time alone together to recover from the trauma.

His father and Lo Si had left for Tibet on a mission for the Dalai Lama. They'd been gone for almost a month. Peter wasn't sure, but thought it might be another month before they returned – which seemed like an eternity. Peter needed to have his father in his life, but there always seemed to be some urgent mission that carried him away.

Sudden loud and persistent honking in the car behind him jolted Peter back into the present and he reacted without thinking.

"Okay, buddy, you just blew it," he grumbled and he reached down to put the portable police light on the dashboard of the car. He flipped it on while also activating the loudspeaker as he ordered, "Pull it over."

The moment he made it official, Peter regretted it. Now, Kelly would definitely be pissed at him for the rest of the night. _'Maybe I can just give the guy a stiff talking to and then let him go with a warning. That shouldn't take too long... Crap, who am I trying to kid? This jerk isn't going to be impressed with a slap on the wrist.'_

Peter straightened his shoulders as he justified his actions. "No, this is important – there's no place for tail-gating or road rage on a road filled with hairpin turns and sharp drop offs. As Eppy would say, he's an accident waiting to happen."

He gestured for the driver behind him to pull over. The Chevy began to slow and pull to one side as ordered – when the driver suddenly slammed on the accelerator. He sped up alongside the rear of Kelly's Mustang and jerked on the steering wheel hard, hitting the rear quarter panel of her car with enough force to spin it around.

Peter used every trick he could think of to regain control of the car, but the Mustang was simply too close to the edge of the road. The impact and continued force of the Chevy pushing against the smaller Mustang caused it to go plunging down a sixty-foot embankment without impediment, rolling over as it went.

"Ah, shit!" Peter shouted as he realized there was nothing to stop his descent.

He held onto the wheel briefly, but lost his grip as the car continued to roll over and over. Despite the safety belt restraints, he was bounced around so hard and so fast, he wasn't sure if he was going to survive. The Mustang came to an abrupt stop when it hit a tree at the bottom of the culvert, and the collision forced a branch through the windshield and into Peter's side.

Peter screamed as the wood pierced his lower right side. He tried to pull it loose with a shaky hand, but even though the branch was less than a half-inch thick, it was too firmly imbedded to move. He looked down, staring at it in disbelief and whispered, "Oh, God."

He struggled to catch his breath, looking around within the dimly lit interior of the car for a distraction, anything to keep him from focusing on the pain. Of course, his injury was a concern – yet, he was more upset with himself for letting the idiot who'd knocked him off the road get away with it. He should have had his mind on the driver of the Chevy and not on being late.

Peter sensed moisture running down his temple, then he remembered banging his head against the window and used one hand to swipe at it. He remembered banging his head against the window and when he looked at his hand, it was wet with blood.

"Head wounds always bleed a lot," he consoled himself in a loud whisper.

"Now, this – this is another matter... " He paused as he tried to see how badly he was bleeding from the wound in his side, but the angle and dimness in the interior of the car made it difficult. Licking his lips, he considered his situation, wondering if anyone had witnessed the accident and called it in. Traffic had thinned out to practically nothing by the time he'd encountered the Chevy, so it was possible no one had seen the accident happen.

_Where is all that damned traffic when I really need it? _he groused.

Peter knew the statistics all too well. A car this far off the road could go unnoticed for days... even weeks. He had to get moving or Kelly's car would become his coffin. He shoved against his crumpled car door with all his might, and then groaned when the movement made his side hurt like hell.

His head fell back against the headrest as he closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. When he made a little progress, he attempted to lower his pain level by using some of the tricks his father had been trying to teach him, only to sigh and roll his eyes in frustration.

"What the hell am I doing?" he mumbled. "This might be a piece of cake for Kwai Chang Caine, Master Shaolin Priest, but for not me."

He brushed at the sweat and blood on his forehead and closed his eyes, then unconsciousness crept up on him, catching him by surprise. He faded away before he had a chance to fight it. His last thought was of Kelly and what she would do to him when she saw her battered Mustang.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Captain Blaisdell sipped on stale coffee as he listened to Kelly Blaine's worried voice on the other end of the telephone line. He kept his tone light on purpose. Life with Peter was never easy and it didn't help that Kelly's nerves already weren't in the best shape.

"No, Kelly, Peter ran out of here hours ago, jabbering goodbyes while saying something about being in a hurry to pick you up to head for the cabin."

"Well, he isn't here. Captain, I'm worried about him," Kelly said in a rush. "He was too committed to this trip to be late. I've called his cell phone several times and all I get is his voice mail. He's got my car, so I can't even go out to try and find him."

Blaisdell felt a nagging worry begin, but he still tried to keep the concern from his voice as he replied, "Give me a few minutes. I'll make some calls of my own, and then I'll get back to you. If he shows up there, give me a ring."

"If he shows up here, the first thing I'm going to do is ring his damned neck," she said in a half-hearted joke.

Paul chuckled, recognizing the sentiment from personal experience with Peter. The police captain hung up the phone and stood, then bent forward a little. The injuries he'd sustained in the attack by the Shadow Assassins a month ago were slow to heal, vexing him with their constant reminder.

God only knew the depth of Peter's guilt those first few weeks after the attacks, feeling responsible for what had happened. It was only after Paul and Kelly returned to work did the haunted look in Peter's eyes begin to diminish, though things were still mending between Peter and Kelly.

Paul walked to the door of his office, and looked around. He couldn't see his Chief of Detectives, Frank Strenlich, in the bullpen, but Kermit Griffin was there, emerging from his inner sanctum to refill his coffee mug. He glanced Paul's way. After one look at Paul, Kermit came to see what was wrong.

"What's up?" Kermit asked in a lighter tone than his expression implied.

Paul rubbed his mouth and sighed. "It might be nothing."

Kermit waited. After a moment, Paul waved his fingers in the air and continued, "Peter's rarely on time for anything."

Kermit's expression darkened a bit, but still he said nothing.

"He was supposed to pick Kelly up hours ago for their trip to the cabin... "

"But he hasn't shown up yet," Kermit finished what Paul had been unable to say.

Paul nodded, trying not to let the worry he felt show on his face. "Peter was too excited about this trip to blow it off like this, or even worse, not even call Kelly to let her know what was going on."

Kermit walked over to Broderick's desk and put out a call to Peter over the police radio, patiently waiting for a response. When there wasn't any answer, he tried Peter's cell phone, but again there was no response. He left a short message and turned back to Paul.

Broderick looked at Kermit and Paul, apparently picking up on their concerns and volunteered, "I can keep calling for him, if you like. Do you want an APB on his car?"

Kermit looked at Paul, who took a deep breath. Paul didn't want to jump the gun, but his intuition as a policeman and a father told him Peter was in trouble, one way or another, so he nodded. "But Peter's Corvette is in the shop. He's driving Kelly's Mustang. We should have her license plate number on file. Call me the moment you hear anything."

Kermit leaned toward Broderick as Paul started to walk away. "Check the accident reports for the last couple of hours, along with anything from the local hospitals."

Broderick didn't say anything, but his eyes widened and he nodded. "Okay, got it."

Paul was already on the phone with Annie by the time Kermit entered his office.

"Hello, honey," Paul started, biting his lip as he listened to her response. He hated to alarm her when there was just a possibility of trouble, but it had to be done. "Did you speak to Peter today?"

He glanced over at Kermit and waited. The ex-merc leaned against the closed door of Paul's office with his hands on his hips as he listened to Paul's side of the conversation.

"Kelly called you, too?" he asked.

After she answered, he said, "An hour ago? Well, did Peter say exactly where he was going before he left?"

Again, there was silence in the office as Paul listened to Annie's reply. Paul sighed, forced to say the words he'd wanted to avoid. "He might be in some kind of trouble, Annie, that's why I'm asking. Kelly just called and he still hasn't made it home yet. I'm trying to backtrack to see if I can find him."

Paul waited until she had finished her questions before answering. "No, he hasn't been in an accident that we know of, but he's not answering his radio or cell phone. Did he say anything to you about making any stops after he left you?"

Paul glanced to Kermit. "Okay, the florist on Madison and Turner. We can check on that. Anything else?"

He listened some more, then interrupted her. "Let's not jump to any conclusions just yet. Not with Peter. It might not be an accident. You know what he's like... he might have decided to get Kelly some special present for their trip. Hell, with Peter, anything could have happened."

Paul glanced at his watch. "He left at 3:30?"

His gaze met Kermit's troubled expression as both men checked their watches and knew it shouldn't have taken Peter two hours to go from the Blaisdell home to his apartment. Paul frowned as he heard Annie mentioned the shortcut notorious for accidents. The back roads saved some time, but the route was also treacherous.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, then said, "I'll check it out and call you the moment I hear anything."

He couldn't help the slight smile that sprang to his lips as he replied, "I love you, too."

Kermit disappeared as Paul said his goodbyes to Annie. When he returned, he had his trench coat on and Paul knew from experience his Desert Eagle was holstered underneath.

"I'll backtrack from your house to the florist, and see what I can find out, then head out to Peter's apartment."

"I'll go with you. I know that rural route like the back of my hand. We might do better together."

Kermit nodded, pausing long enough for Paul to grab his jacket, weapon, and cell phone. As they walked out, Paul repeated his earlier sentiment. "It might be nothing, just some stupid Peter move that has us worrying for nothing."

Kermit gave Paul a long sideways glance as he opened the lobby door. "Paul, you aren't prone to worrying over nothing. Neither am I. My gut tells me something's wrong and we need to find the kid ASAP, and that's exactly what we are going to do."

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter opened his eyes and tried to focus on the scene around him. His memories were groggy at best and what he saw had him confused for a moment. Then he straightened with sudden realization and groaned from the movement. He put one hand to his side and the other went to his forehead.

_'Damn, I went through the railing when that asshole rammed the rear end of the Mustang!'_

He shook his head slightly, trying to clear the cobwebs and he wondered how long he'd been unconscious. The pain of his injury came alive with his increasing awareness. The hand at his side felt the tree branch still lodged there. His warm, rapid breathing had fogged over the windows, leaving him feeling as isolated as he'd ever felt. His chances of survival weren't getting any better if he didn't get help soon.

"Shit, this is all I need!" he exclaimed.

He pressed the hand more firmly against his throbbing side and bit his lip against the pain, then realized his fingers were wet with something sticky... blood. Crap, he had to slow the bleeding somehow. His body trembled, sweaty yet so cold. He knew he was on the edge of going into shock, but he couldn't just sit there doing nothing.

Gasping, he tried to reach the radio mike. Even as he made the effort, he knew the gesture was probably futile. The handheld mike was on the floor and the radio had been silent since the crash. Maybe it was damaged in the accident. He tried his car door again with his left hand, but it wouldn't budge and he felt so damned weak from the blood loss.

His feet were trapped, pinned against the center console, because the left front section of the car was crumpled in on itself. Grabbing the cord for the mike, he pulled it up toward him, then swallowed, trying to bring moisture to his dry mouth. His voice still rasped as he spoke into the mike, "This is Baker 1-9. Officer in need of assistance. MVA off Rte 203, heading to Jefferson Avenue, near mile post number four... I think."

There was no reply from the radio, but a malicious laugh erupted right outside Peter's door. The unexpected sound startled him and he jumped, then groaned at the unexpected movement. He reached around with his left hand and clasped his Beretta in its holster, somehow sensing his situation was now much more serious. His hand, slick with blood, shook but he tightened his grip as the laughter outside grew more frenetic.

An insistent tapping on Peter's driver's side window made him point the weapon in that direction, but the menacing voice that spoke made him even more nervous. "How are you doing in there, po-lice-man?"

Before Peter could answer, the man rocked the Mustang. Peter groaned again with the unexpected movement and a tear slipped down his cheek. Peter fought to keep his senses alert. He couldn't pass out – not now – not with an adversary right outside his door.

"Your pretty car looks totaled. I hope you have good insurance – not that it's gonna matter much to you when I'm done. Hell, it's amazing you're even still alive. You must have rolled over five or six times. It was really something to watch... " The man's childish giggling became even more hysterical.

Then the stranger grew silent again, and he quipped, "Bet you won't cut anyone off in traffic again, will you, Detective Caine?"

Peter's head whipped around toward the fogged window. The asshole knew his name! This wasn't some random act of road rage. The guy knew who he was and had caused the accident on purpose. Peter wiped at the foggy window with one hand, trying to get a better visual on the man taunting him, but the guy just stepped out of his line of sight.

"You're in a lot of trouble, buddy," Peter warned, wishing his voice sounded stronger.

Again, the man's laughter exploded in an evil frenzy. "No, I think you're the one in trouble. You just don't know how much trouble yet... but you will. Yeah, you will and soon."

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Peter demanded.

He used the butt of his gun to shatter the cracked driver's window and stretched as much as he could, blindly firing off a couple shots to get some distance from his assailant.

"Missed me! And I thought you were supposed to be some kind of hotshot with a gun. Just goes to show you can't believe everything people tell you."

Peter prepared to fire again, but froze when he heard a sloshing noise, then detected the scent of gasoline and heard the crazy man's laughter again. The guy was at the front passenger side of the car now, always staying out of Peter's line of sight. This time, the man sounded very pleased with himself.

"You know, they are gonna have to use the Jaws of Life to get that door open."

The man rocked the car again. "That twig in your side will hurt like hell when they do, because those machines vibrate like a rocket taking off – but long before that happens, you're gonna burn, cop. Burn like you should have done a long time ago. Burn..."

Peter swallowed hard, drained from the man's taunts. He'd managed not to scream with the movement of the car, but he knew he couldn't hold out for long. Not if that asshole kept bouncing the car around like a child's toy. The worst of it was knowing Peter couldn't do a blasted thing to stop him from carrying out his threats.

"Christ, why didn't I think of this earlier," Peter whispered as realization struck hard.

He reached inside his leather jacket and pulled out his cell phone. He didn't care if his assailant heard him groan or not. The display listed several missed calls. They must have been made while he was unconscious. Damn, he could have requested help, but now he was trapped with a madman threatening to set Kelly's car on fire with him inside.

He hit one of the preprogrammed numbers and closed his eyes with blessed relief when Paul answered, "Peter? Where the hell are you?"

"Paul," he gasped, his injuries again threatening to pull him into unconsciousness. "Have to talk fast. Not sure how long I have."

He quickly relayed his location.

"Are you injured? Why are you whispering?"

"I'm not alone, Paul. I'm trapped in Kelly's Mustang. I was knocked off the road by some idiot and now he's outside the car with gasoline... " Peter paused, "And he says he plans to light it up with me still inside."

"Hang on, son. We're less than two minutes away."

Peter swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as the maniacal laughter outside increased. Two minutes wasn't long, but it only took a second to strike a match.

"Paul, come with sirens blasting and your lights on. It might scare him off before he... before he... "

"I understand, son. You just hang in there. We're almost with you. Keep talking to me until we arrive."

The strong gasoline fumes made Peter dizzy and his vision was starting to swirl. He dropped the cell phone, using the steering wheel to hold on as he fought to remain conscious.

"Damn it, I can't pass out now," he whispered to himself as he heard Paul's distant voice shouting for a response.

He blinked a few times, then saw a shadow move around to the front of the car. He fired a couple more shots, shattering the windshield in front of him even more, hoping to keep the man busy until Paul could get there. The cold evening air rushed in through the new opening, along with a much stronger smell of gasoline and a whiff of sulfur.

Moments later, he could see flickers of flames through the hole in the windshield just as he heard the distant siren approaching. With Peter's fading consciousness, the flames outside caused an image to flash in his mind – one of the temple walls collapsing around him. Fire. Fire was everywhere. And his father gone from sight. God, how he hated fire.

"Ah, it looks like you cheated, Caine, like you cops always do. Well, I've got a little surprise ready to greet your friends when they get down here. Don't worry, if you survive... we'll meet again, Caine. And when we do, I'll finish what I started today."

Smoke started to fill the interior of the car as tires screeched to a halt on the road above. Help had arrived. Peter coughed and flinched in pain. Damn, that asshole hinted at a trap for the people coming to help him. He had to warn them. Unfortunately, there was little he could do. His cell phone was on the floor of the car and the smoke filling the interior of the car left him panicky.

His eyes streamed with tears from the smoke's irritation. His world was going dark, as black as the smoke swirling around him. The effect left Peter wondering if he'd remain conscious just long enough for the flames to reach him, then his disorientation worsened and he realized he was unable to do anything except watch his worst nightmare, fire, attempt to destroy his life once again.

**oOoOoOoOo**

**Chapter 1**


	2. Chapter 2

1

**Chapter Two**

"Oh, dear God," Paul whispered as Griffin's Corvair screeched to a halt.

Using a handheld spotlight, Paul could see Kelly's Mustang down in the ravine. Though he'd mentally prepared himself for the sight, there was no way to brace himself against the horrific scene down below. The car was terribly banged up and there was the flickering of flames around the front end.

Kermit didn't say a word. He simply popped the trunk on his car and pulled out a large fire extinguisher and a shovel as Paul rushed from the Corvair, slipping and sliding down the hillside, still slick from recent rains.

"Watch yourself, Paul," Kermit warned Paul as he started after him, caution echoing heavily in his voice. "Annie will have my ass in a sling if I let you open healing wounds."

Paul dismissed his warning with a wave of the hand. He didn't bother to look back, knowing Kermit was right behind him. He felt twinges and aches crop up again as he moved, but they were a very low priority.

"Peter?" Paul shouted as he got closer. "Peter, can you hear me?"

Paul glanced back at Kermit who was a few feet behind him when there was no answer and cursed. Kermit released the latch on the extinguisher and started spraying down the worst of the flames, only to be blasted from his feet when the chemical fire suppressant interacted with the pools of liquid around the wreck. The blast made Paul duck behind a raised arm. His mouth dropped open in surprise as Kermit landed hard a few feet away.

"What the hell?" Paul exclaimed, moving to help Kermit, watchful for more surprises.

Kermit was in the middle of a string of curses by the time Paul reached down to help him to stand. "What happened, Kermit?"

Kermit picked up the standard fire extinguisher beside him, then knelt to dip two fingers into the fluid floating on top of the accumulated rain water and sniffed.

"Son of a bitch," he whispered.

Kermit glanced at the fire which was already licking at the front of Kelly's car. "I'm going to radio in for a foam truck. This area has been sabotaged. There's more than water and gasoline lying around us."

Kermit pulled out his cell phone and called for a direct link with the fire captain en route to the accident. Paul understood Kermit's anger, but still had to ask, "It was a trap... meant for us?"

Kermit nodded grimly. "Go check on Peter, I'll take care of this."

Blaisdell started to move, but paused, closing his eyes in relief when he heard the fire units approaching in the distance. Help was near, but he had to get to Peter and see for himself how his son was doing. Before he could step forward, Kermit grabbed his arm and pointed to the tree branch sticking through the front windshield of the Mustang.

Paul swallowed hard as he followed the branch's trajectory through the shattered glass to the driver's seat. "Peter," he whispered, rounding the front of the Mustang in a flash.

Both car doors were smashed, but the passenger door was the least affected. Still, it took Kermit's help, using the shovel as leverage to get the mangled door open. It sounded as if they were opening the gateway to Hell when straining metal shrieked and groaned, but they managed to pry it free.

Paul peeked inside and saw Peter slumped toward the center of the car, unconscious, but still breathing, and he let out a sigh of relief.

He looked up the hill when he heard the sirens slowing down and then went silent. The fire truck's bright red-and-blue flashing lights cut through the dark night like a safety beacon and gave Paul some comfort that help was actually on the scene.

"I'll go up and let them know what's going on," Kermit said as he started up the hillside.

Paul took one look at the rising flames at the front of the Mustang and chewed on his lip. "Tell them to hurry, that fire is spreading. It won't be long before it reaches the gas tank."

Kermit glanced back at the car and then at the fire engine parked on the road. He nodded as he continued his slip/slide trip up the hillside. Paul crawled back inside the damaged vehicle, staring at the tree branch breeching the windshield, not quite sure what he could do to help, then he focused on Peter's blood-soaked side. Peter's white cotton Henley was now crimson on one side. It didn't seem as if the branch had hit any vital organs off to the side like it was, but there was a lot of blood soaked into Peter's clothes, so it had obviously done some damage.

Paul stepped back out of the car and hollered up to Kermit. "Check on the ETA of the ambulance! He's losing blood and God knows what else is wrong. He needs those paramedics now!"

Kermit stopped beside a firefighter pulling hose down from the truck and said something to the man who answered quickly. The ex-merc nodded and shouted back, "ETA two minutes."

Paul pulled off his jacket and maneuvered himself back inside. Hoping the heavier material of his coat would do more to staunch the flow of blood, he wrapped it as tightly around the branch as he could. As Paul held it in place with one hand, he reached up and tapped Peter on the cheek with the other. "Peter, son, can you hear me? Come on, wake up, and tell me what's been going on."

Peter roused slightly, but then cried out in pain as his weight shifted. His eyes were still closed, and he wasn't fully conscious, but obviously in great pain. His bloody hands went to his side automatically, closing over Paul's, and his groans cut a path straight to Paul's heart. Paul kept his hand on Peter's cheek, brushing his thumb across Peter's stubbled jaw and whispered words of comfort until Peter's murmuring subsided.

"Peter, it's Paul. Kermit's here too, and the emergency rescue crews. We'll have you out of here in no time."

Peter nodded and squeezed Paul's hand in a weak grip. "Son of a bitch! This damned thing hurts!" Peter whispered, tears falling from tightly shut eyes.

"I know, son, I know. Just hang on, you'll be out of here soon. If it's any comfort, it looks like that branch is just lodged in the fleshy part of your side."

Peter let out a long breath showing his relief and nodded. He didn't say anything more. Paul shifted as the fire captain stopped outside Peter's door, talking through the shattered window. "Ben Jacobs, captain of Engine 87. How's it going in here?" he asked, looking at Peter, then at Paul.

Paul let his eyes speak for him. The dark-headed Jacobs nodded, then leaned a little closer to talk to Peter. "Are you hurt anywhere besides your side and head?"

Peter closed his eyes for a moment, then whispered, "My legs. I can't move my legs. My feet are pinned."

"That will be easy enough to fix once the paramedics get here, which should be any second. Your Detective Kermit explained a little of your situation. We've got a pretty good idea of what we're dealing with outside of the car. Just sit tight and you'll be out before you know it. The other fire engine should be here any minute."

Paul nodded, then caught sight of Kermit through the front windshield as he worked with a couple other firemen shoveling dirt onto the flames. The captain patted Peter comfortingly on the shoulder, then moved back to the front of the car.

Paul chewed on his lip for a moment, then asked, "Can you tell me anything about the guy who drove you off the road and set the fire?"

Peter shook his head, taking a few shallow breaths, and then opened his eyes. In the flickering glow of the flames, Paul could see Peter's pupils were fully dilated, and then his eyes grew wide with fear. "Paul, you need to get out of here and warn the fire crews. The asshole that drove me off the road said something about setting up a surprise for my friends when they arrived."

Paul grunted. "Yeah, we already encountered it. Don't worry. They've got it under control."

Peter looked wretched as he shivered in the cool night air. Before Paul could say anything more, Kermit was at his side again. "How's he doing?"

Paul looked up at his old friend gratefully and said, "He's managing, but we need some blankets. I don't want him going into shock before we can get him out of the car."

"Understood. I'll have them sent down right away," Griffin said and stepped away from the car.

Paul took hold of Peter's hand again. "Okay, Peter, I've got some blankets on the way. Wish there was some way we could elevate your feet, but the paramedics should be here soon. Is there anything you can tell me about this guy?"

Wiping at the perspiration on his face with the back of one hand, Peter spoke between gasps, "It was a souped up late 70's model blue Chevy sedan. I never got a good look at him. It all happened too fast. One moment I passed him because he was driving too slow and the next thing I knew, he was slamming into the side of my car and I was off the road."

Peter's head dropped back against the headrest in exhaustion, his speech draining what little energy he had left. Paul had heard enough to get the picture. Road rage. One of the most idiotic of all street crimes. And now its madness had touched his son. Paul leaned over and brushed back Peter's bloodied bangs.

"It will be over soon, then we will find this guy and put him away."

Peter's eyes flew open, full of concern. "It wasn't random, Paul. The guy knew my name. He knew I was a cop."

Paul was taken aback by the statement. "He knew you?"

Peter nodded slightly. "But I never got a good look at him. He had this strange laugh. I know I'd remember that, but I've never heard it before... "

Peter's eyes glazed over and Paul knew he was starting to fade away again. Paul squeezed his hand again, trying to bring him back. "Peter, stay with us a little longer."

Paul glanced around them when he could hear the voices of firefighters working outside on the flames as the fire continued to spread slowly. Fires were tough enough to control under ideal situations, but there were other agents involved here.

Peter nodded with his eyes closed in reply, but it was such a minute movement, Paul wasn't sure how long Peter would be able to stay awake.

**oOoOoOoOo**

The noise from the 'jaws of life' summoned Peter back from unconsciousness. The device caused a god-awful metal-on-metal racket as its motor strained from the effort of prying the car door open and Peter screamed as it went to work, the vibrations shaking him and the branch in his side unmercifully.

He heard Paul's voice yelling for them to stop, then Kermit's, and some sort of discussion ensued, but Peter couldn't focus on it. He was just drifting back into unconsciousness when someone patted his cheek. He peeked out through hooded eyes, but he couldn't see much. There was a heavy drape over him to protect him from the work being done outside. Funny, it hadn't protected him much so far, at least from the pain, he thought sarcastically as he kept one hand clutched around the branch in his side.

The hand on his cheek patted a little harder. Glancing over, he saw Paul was still with him, holding onto him tightly.

"P-Paul?" Peter whispered, surprised at the weakness in his own voice.

"Yeah, I'm here, Peter. You're safe. They are going to get you out of here, just not with that damned machine shaking you apart. They will have to try something else. Don't worry, you'll be fine. It won't be any time at all. Just hang in there, son."

Peter bit his lip to keep from crying out as the crew working to open the door jostled the car again. He managed a reassuring nod at Paul, but even that gesture was too taxing. His breathing was rapid and he was covered with a sheen of sweat. Glancing over at Paul, it was obvious his foster father was not happy with his condition and his gaze kept going to Peter's side.

When Peter glanced down, he saw Paul's jacket had soaked a lot of his blood around his wound. Peter noticed the tension in Paul's face as he toyed with the fabric. Worse, he could practically feel Paul's fear wash over him in ever increasing waves. Peter bit his lip, his side ached so badly, but he put a shaky hand over Paul's and said, "Don't worry, Dad. I'm tough."

Paul smiled sadly and nodded, "One of the toughest I've ever known."

"How's he doing?" asked one of the paramedics kneeling beside Paul.

"If it was based on pure stubbornness, I'd say he was fine, but..." Paul said with hesitation. "He's in a lot of pain."

The paramedic nodded. "I better check his vitals again."

That was when Peter first noticed he had a brace around his neck and an IV in his right arm. Paul squeezed his arm and kissed his cheek. "I'll be right back."

Paul stood stiffly and the paramedic slid into his place. "How are you doing, Peter?" he asked with more cheerfulness than Peter could tolerate.

"Peachy," Peter said with a sigh, wishing he could think clearly, but he hurt too much for that.

"At least you're talking to me this time," the paramedic said with a grin as he flashed a penlight into Peter's eyes, making his headache pound with greater intensity, then the light was gone and the paramedic was busy pumping up his blood pressure cuff. He glanced up at Peter as he listened for the readings, eyeing him closely and Peter decided the man didn't like what he saw.

"I'm okay," Peter said softly. "I'll be fine."

The paramedic frowned at the blood pressure reading. "Yeah, right, just peachy. Damn, I was afraid of this. That little incident with the power tools has sent your blood pressure through the roof."

Peter didn't get a chance to respond as the man listened to Peter's breathing with his stethoscope, then he wrapped his stethoscope around his neck and said, "Do you need something more for the pain?"

Peter shook his head. "That stuff's already got me dopey. I'm okay."

"Even after what just happened?" he asked a little incredulous.

Peter smiled wanly. "Yeah. Really. I'm okay."

"Well, if it starts to worsen, let me know."

Peter nodded.

The paramedic patted Peter's leg. "I'll let Blaisdell sit with you a little longer. Yell if you need me."

Paul settled back into place just as Kermit stuck his head in. He exchanged silent gazes with Peter, saying much more than either man felt comfortable saying aloud, then he said, "They're just about ready to have another crack at that door. You ready?"

Peter cleared his throat and said, "Hell, yes, I want to get out of here."

Kermit smiled and nodded, but didn't move away. He wiped away the sweat from his face and Peter could see the reflection of flames in his dark glasses. "Kermit, is that fire still burning?"

Kermit glanced at Peter and then at Paul before speaking. "Yeah, kid, it's more than just gasoline. The foam seems to be keeping it down some, but we can't get it out completely. It won't matter in a few minutes because we'll have you out of there. Just hang in there."

Peter turned to Paul too quickly and gasped with pain, but struggled to get past his discomfort in order to voice his concerns. "Dad, get out of here right now. You don't have to risk your life by staying in here with me! Kermit, you, too. Get everyone away from here. Get everyone out of here now!"

Paul's voice was firm as he said, "I'm staying."

Peter became more agitated. "God, you're still healing from the attack by the Shadow Assassins. I won't have you hurt again because of me."

Paul's expression turned about as determined as Peter had ever seen it. "I'm not letting you face this alone. End of discussion."

Peter glanced away, knowing there was no way he was going to talk Paul out of the car right then, not when he had _'that'_ tone in his voice. Peter closed his eyes for a moment, grateful for a man like Paul Blaisdell in his life, while also cursing his stubbornness.

Kermit cleared his throat. "You better get used to the fact that no one is moving until you're free, Peter. Once the door is open, they can work on getting your feet free, then we can all get the hell out of there."

Peter fumed for a moment, then nodded. Kermit disappeared from the doorway, then came back into sight. "They're almost ready."

Peter glanced over at Paul and grimaced, despite his attempts to be brave. Paul placed a hand on Peter's cheek, turning his face toward him. "You aren't alone in this, son. You hold onto me as tightly as you can, scream if you need to, do whatever it takes to get through it. Once you're freed from the car, they can get you away from all of this. It will be over soon."

Peter tried to smile, but failed. "Thanks, Paul. I really wish you would get clear... "

One look at Paul's determined expression and Peter stopped, sighing as deeply as his injuries would allow. He shook his head before looking back to Paul. "Damn, and sometimes I wonder where I get my bullheadedness from."

"You may have picked up some of that from me," Paul said with a twinkle in his eye.

Peter smiled and paused. "Okay, if I had to be completely honest and one hundred percent selfish, I'm glad you're here with me."

Paul rubbed his hand against Peter's. "There's no other place I'd choose to be, son."

The intimate moment ended with a shouted warning from Kermit. "Okay, they're getting ready to start!"

Paul tightened his grip on Peter's hand. Peter stared straight ahead, bracing himself as much as possible, then said, "This isn't gonna be over, Paul, not until that asshole is behind bars and something inside of me keeps saying it won't be an easy bust."

**oOoOoOoOo**

Paul never had a chance to answer because the heavy jostling motion that finally opened the door also caused Peter to pass out. Paul watched as the emergency crews worked to free Peter's legs from his car, then they cut the tree branch away from the tree, but left the short section still in Peter's side in place. The fire captain standing beside Paul said, "They're going to have to leave that branch in his side in place until – "

"Until a surgeon can remove it. Yeah, I know. I'm just glad he was out when they had to cut it," Paul said as he watched them carefully passed Peter's limp body to a waiting stretcher.

As Paul glanced back at the Mustang, he saw the fire showed little sign of being extinguished, despite the mounds of foam covering the ground. He followed the paramedics and firefighters carrying Peter up the hill, but couldn't keep his mind off of Peter's revelation that the perp knew his name. He heard a noise beside him and knew Kermit was there, making sure Paul made it up the hill without a problem.

"How did the kid do?"

"How do you think he did!" Paul snapped before softening his tone. "We've got more trouble here than a simple auto accident. Someone tried to kill Peter and nearly succeeded. He knew Peter's name, knew he was a cop, and probably much more than that. I want a guard with him at all times until we get this sorted out."

Kermit's gaze narrowed as he stared at Paul. "Knew his name and occupation?"

"That's what Peter said," Paul replied grimly as he glanced ahead, his eyes tracking Peter and the paramedics closely, as if the peril surrounding Peter would mushroom if he lost sight of him.

"That's not good," Kermit muttered in his classic style of understatement. "Especially not with the little goodies he left for us to deal with. If a foam truck hadn't been in the vicinity, we might not have been able to get Peter out of the car in time."

Kermit was quiet for a moment before he turned back, looking down at the firefighters still battling the blaze around Kelly's car. "Whatever evidence we might have gathered from the crime scene has been washed away or burned up."

Paul nodded. He didn't speak, mostly because he was winded from the hike up the hill. Newly healing injuries were trying to catch Paul's attention, but without success. Paul's heart and soul were with the man he called son.

Kermit put a hand to Paul's back when he slipped, keeping him from losing his balance, but removed it as soon as Paul was on steadier ground. They reached the top of the hill and stood near the paramedics checking Peter's vital signs again. The branch sticking out of Peter's side looked grotesque and ominous. The sooner they got him to the hospital, the better.

"Back it up!"

Paul jumped, caught off guard by the angry tone in Kermit's voice. When Paul glanced around, he saw Sandra Mason of Channel Three News and a cameraman filming the scene below.

"Ah, hell," Paul whispered. He started to rub a hand over his face when he noticed there was dried blood on it. Peter's blood. And his heart seemed to ache a little more from the sight of it.

The sheriff's deputies at the scene moved in and pulled Sandra and her cameraman back to a more respectable distance. Paul really didn't have the time or energy to deal with her right now. He turned back to check on Peter, shaking his head.

Kermit came up behind him and said, "It's never easy, is it?"

"Especially not when it comes to Peter," Paul replied with a weary sigh.

Kermit nodded. They both fell silent while the paramedics relayed information back and forth to the hospital.

Suddenly, Paul heard the fire captain down in the ravine yelling for his men to pull back and he spun around to look. As Paul turned, the Mustang exploded into a fiery ball of flames. His mouth dropped open and he exchanged a look with Kermit, one that acknowledged just how close they had all been to death. Once again, they had eluded the grim reaper. This time, by mere moments.

Thinking of death, he turned back to Peter and watched the paramedics load him into the ambulance, and his thoughts wandered back to the first time he'd met Peter. Who could have known back then that his life would become so intimately entwined with Peter's?

Kermit patted Paul on the back to get his attention. "You better get inside with Peter. The ambulance is ready to leave."

Paul felt disoriented as he realized Kermit was right. Somehow, he'd lost track of time while he'd been thinking about Peter. Glancing to the firefighters as they resumed their battle against the flames, he nodded and entered the ambulance.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	3. Chapter 3

1

**Chapter Three**

Peter awakened to find his girlfriend, Kelly, sitting in a chair beside his bed.

"Hey," he whispered, reaching out for her hand.

She took it and kissed it, smiling with tears in her eyes. "Hey, right back at you, lover boy."

Paul and Annie stepped into Peter's line of sight. Peter sighed when he saw how tired they all looked.

"How are you feeling, honey?" Annie asked as she stepped unerringly to the other side of the bed and kissed him on the cheek.

Peter tried to shake off some of the grogginess he felt before speaking again. "Glad to be alive, I guess," he said, his voice still raspy from the anesthesia.

"Lucky to be alive is more like it, son," Paul said, coming up to stand behind Annie, "Damned lucky to be alive. When you are feeling a little more alert, I want to talk to you some more about the driver of that Chevy."

Peter nodded, and then shook his head in confusion. "For the life of me, I can't ever remember running into a jerk like him before."

"Maybe something will come to you when we talk later."

Peter looked up at Paul, feeling his expression contort with emotion. "Thanks for staying with me in the car. You being there made it a hell of a lot easier to endure."

Kelly rubbed her hand over his. "I can't imagine what it was like, Peter. I was so worried about you when I heard about the accident, then when I saw the video Channel Three News ran last night... "

Peter groaned. "It was on the news?"

Kelly nodded, her eyes wide with fear. "It showed them carrying you up the hillside, then my car as it blew up."

Peter straightened so fast, it made his side throb. "Kelly, your car... ah, damn, I'm sorry."

Kelly's gaze softened as she brushed her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck as she helped him lie back again. "I'll give you a hard time about it later, when you aren't on pain medication. Cars can be replaced, people can't."

Annie nodded in agreement and squeezed his arm. "You must have a guardian angel watching over you, Peter, to survive things like this."

Peter grunted. "I'd rather have a bodyguard who keeps them from happening, period."

He sighed and his eyelids started to drift shut. Annie patted him on the arm. "Paul and I will leave you two alone for a moment. I promised to call your sisters and your father wants to check in with Kermit, but we'll be back shortly."

"Thanks, Mom," Peter said, putting a hand over hers.

After they left, Peter looked over at Kelly with a guilty glance. "I guess I really blew our romantic weekend away from it all – and then there's the matter of your car... "

Kelly leaned forward and held him close. "Don't be silly, Peter. I'm just glad you made it through this nightmare alive." Her voice wavered, then she broke down into tears.

Peter really looked at her for the first time and saw how her eyes were already swollen from crying. He reached up to wipe away the freshly falling tears, and then grasped his side, hissing through clenched teeth. "Damn," he cursed when the pain refused to subside.

Kelly was up and out the door looking for a nurse before he could stop her. She had immediate success, finding a nurse in the hallway. The nurse stopped just outside his door and glanced in Peter's direction as she spoke to Kelly, "Yes, he's due for his medication. I'll be back in just a sec."

Peter frowned as Kelly sat back beside him, but he still wasn't up to speaking yet, though there was a lot he wanted to say. "Don't argue with me, Peter Caine. I've seen you hurt enough to know when you really do need pain meds. Besides, that surgery took a lot out of you."

"Yes, Dr. Kelly," Peter grumbled.

The nurse came in with Peter's injection. She did a quick check of Peter's vital signs and left after administering the medication. When she was gone, Kelly smiled and cautiously curled up beside him. "I think you'll like my next prescription. Instead of going up to the cabin, how about I just stay here and snuggle? I can spend the night right here."

"You don't have to – " Guilt echoed in his voice even as Kelly put a finger on his lips.

"Don't argue with your doctor, honey. It's bad manners."

Peter smiled finally and shook his head. He was about to kiss her when he noticed a uniformed officer outside his door. His mood shifted instantly. "Who's that?"

Kelly sighed and ran a hand through her long locks of brown curly hair. "Blaisdell ordered a guard outside your door until we get a handle on the idiot who knocked you off the road."

Peter blinked a few times, silently cursing the way the pain medication mired his thoughts. "He... knew my name, didn't he?"

Kelly nodded, the previous romantic atmosphere dissipating. "You said he called you Detective Caine. Unfortunately, the lack of witnesses leaves us with just your description to go by for the perp and it's vague at best."

Peter squinted as he tried to recall the muddied numbers of the Chevy's license plate in his mind, but it all happened so fast, he couldn't remember anything else about the car.

Paul appeared in the doorway, with his hands in his pockets, as he leaned against the doorjamb. "Sorry to interrupt, but I thought you'd be interested in knowing something Kermit just told me. We've found a vehicle matching the Chevy's general description, including damage to the right side, abandoned in Chinatown. The paint scrapes match with Kelly's car, so we're sure we've got the right one. The only problem is that it was a stolen vehicle and wiped down inside and out like a pro. Forensics is going over it, but we don't hold out much hope for any evidence from the car."

He walked into the room as Peter absorbed the new information. "That – that indicates even more premeditation on the perp's part... to steal a vehicle and use it to attack me, and then wipe down the car, so that there would be nothing left to lead us to him... "

Peter caught Kelly's frightened glance reach Paul's and saw the unspoken communication pass between the two seasoned cops. Unable to be of any use, Peter sighed. It didn't help that his pain medication was really beginning to kick in.

"Paul, I can't think of anyone who would want me dead at the moment. I'm sure there's several out there, I just can't put a name to one. At least not one whose voice I would recognize. Especially with that laugh. I'll never forget that laugh."

Kelly snuggled closer to him as Paul approached the foot of the bed. "I've got Skalany and Powell running a comparison of your arrests versus recent releases from prison to see if we can get a match that way."

Peter yawned. "Be prepared... I tend to piss people off without really trying."

"Quite a few, actually," Paul said with a chuckle.

Annie walked into the room, stopping beside Paul. "Honey, our youngest daughter's car has broken down on campus and she needs a ride. We'd better leave before she decides to start walking home in this rain."

Annie turned toward the bed and gave him a kiss on the forehead. "We'll be back in the morning, Peter. You had better make a speedy recovery. After all, you still owe this lovely lady beside you a weekend at the cabin."

Peter smiled and squeezed Annie's hand. Annie paused, lifting her head in that discerning way she had. "Peter, are you – "

"I'm fine, Mom. Tired and sore, but fine. I just need some sleep. Go get Kelly before she catches pneumonia."

Annie brushed her fingers across his forehead and sighed. "Okay, if you say so, honey, but we will be back in the morning and you can tell me what I missed while I was out of the room."

Peter smiled, not much ever slipped past his mother. Peter and Kelly went silent after the Blaisdells left. There wasn't much left to be said and the pain medication was already affecting him. He yawned and pulled Kelly closer to him. A moment later, he was asleep.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter woke up to a general feeling of alarm. Kelly was gone for some reason. The room was dark and the door was shut, the only light coming from the street lights outside. Yet, Peter knew he wasn't alone. At first, he thought he'd just been dreaming, and just imagined the impression of danger in the room, but then he heard softly padded footsteps coming toward the bed and he was sure this was real.

"You were supposed to burn, Detective Caine," came the menacing words that both frightened and angered Peter.

"Yeah, well, you seem to screw up a lot, too," Peter responded, straightening up in the bed, holding his side as best he could without moaning. "You know, I can't for the life of me ever remember meeting up with you before. You must have been a real loser for me to erase you from my list of important characters to remember."

Peter could tell his words had enraged the stranger standing just a few feet away from him, because the man's breathing suddenly increased. As subtly as he could, Peter felt around for the nurse's call button, but it wasn't where it was supposed to be.

The man forced his breathing to slow and he began to circle the bed as he issued a taunt full of menace and intimidation. "I might be a loser, but at least I know where my woman is."

Peter reacted, bolting upright in his bed, sure now that Kelly's absence wasn't an accident. He then paid for the stupidity of his movement with stabbing waves of pain, but he simply ignored it. Worry over Kelly paled everything else.

"Where is she?" Peter whispered, his voice low and threatening.

In the back of his mind, he realized he'd just sounded a lot like Kermit when he was using mercenary rules and he repeated his question, pouring on a little more malice, "Where the hell is she?"

"Not with you, cop. Not much of a po-lice-man, are you if you can't figure that one out?"

A rush of adrenaline gave Peter a burst of strength and he threw back his blankets, getting to his feet. Peter heard the intruder take a few steps back. Apparently, the man was a bit of a coward unless his prey wasn't trapped inside a burning car. Peter wavered as he stood, but he wasn't going to let the guy get away without knowing where Kelly was.

"Where is she, you asshole?" Peter rasped as he held his side with one hand and steadied himself with the bedside tray.

In the dimly lit room, all Peter could make out was the guy's height, about six feet, and his balding scalp. Yeah, he remembered seeing that bald pate in his rearview mirror right before the jerk sent him flying down the embankment. He placed the man's age in his late twenties or early thirties.

"That's for me to know and for you to worry about," came the man's response.

Peter's gaze darted around the room. Kelly was gone from his bed after saying she'd stay the night with him. _Damn, who was this guy and why the hell was he after him?_

The man giggled again. "You think you have it all under control, but you don't have shit, Caine. Soon, things will be fixed back to the way they should have been all along!"

Peter pushed the bedside tray away from him with all the strength he had, aiming for the assailant by sound alone. A clattering collision and cursing told Peter he'd hit his target, but he didn't feel a lot of relief. Damn, he would have sold his soul for his Beretta right then.

The man went silent and Peter lost his position, not to mention he'd used up what little energy the adrenaline rush had brought. He put out a hand, hoping to find the wall. As he did, a chair hit him across the back and he went down hard.

The man leaned closer. "You're gonna die, Caine. You're gonna die and no one will ever miss you. Now, it's time for you to burn like you should have done before. You won't get out of this one alive!"

Peter was distantly aware of the bedding being pulled off his bed and dumped on top of him. A liquid was sprayed on top of the bedding. There was a sudden scent in the air of something like lighter fluid, then a lighter flared. He felt a growing heat in the bedding above him and then smoke. Even with the additional light, he couldn't catch a better glimpse of his assailant, because of his awkward angle.

Without another word, the door opened and closed, leaving Peter sprawled on the floor, praying Kelly was okay. He knew he had to call for help, had to get people looking for her, but he just didn't have the strength to do anything. Somehow, the burning bedding on top of him seemed like the least of his worries when it should have been the most important. Maybe he was going to burn like the jerk predicted.

That last thought made Peter angry – angry enough to try and kick the burning linen away from him, but his growing list of injuries made his movements seem sluggish and futile. As he passed out, his last thoughts were of flames.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Paul and Annie sat in the surgical waiting room, waiting when the only place Paul really wanted to be was out there with the others looking for the bastard who had hurt his son so badly.

Peter had been taken back into surgery to repair the latest damage done by his assailant. The doctor who first treated Peter after he'd been found on the floor of his hospital room hadn't sounded very positive about Peter's condition, hedging his prognosis with vaguest of terms, but the one thing he did say for certain was that Peter wouldn't survive without additional surgery.

Hours passed and still no news on Peter.

_This is a living hell,_ Paul decided, as he slowly stood and began to pace. He thought back to the phone call he'd received minutes after Kermit had left him to search for Kelly and their missing sentry outside Peter's door.

_"Blaisdell," he'd answered curtly._

_"We found her, Paul. Both Kelly and the officer on duty. In a supply closet on the same floor as Peter's room."_

_"And?"_

_"Henderson was knocked out. The doc says it looks like he's got a pretty nasty concussion from our unknown. In fact, he's still out. The doc also says Kelly shows signs of sedation, maybe with chloroform."_

_Paul went silent for a moment. "Why the hell would this perp steal Kelly away and knock out a guard, just to attack Peter again, but not kill him?"_

_"He did try to set Peter on fire again. And might have succeeded if the floor nurse hadn't noticed the absence of the guard on Peter's door. We've definitely got to research this guy's affinity for fire... "_

_Paul nodded in agreement. "Get on it, Kermit. We need to find this guy and find him fast."_

_"The forensics team is finishing up in Peter's room. I'll have more info when they are done. How about the kid?"_

_"Nothing yet. Call me when you get more."_

Paul began pacing again. That call was hours ago. There had been several more calls made since then, but they still didn't have much to go on. This guy was like a ghost roaming about the halls of the hospital unseen.

_'Well, let me have a chance at him and we'll see how ghostly he really is... '_

Paul's thoughts were dark and angry. Maybe that was why Annie let him pace, knowing how much he hated sitting around hospitals, especially when it involved awaiting word on a loved one. Finally, the surgeon came out.

Paul's breath caught as he saw him emerge from the main door leading to the surgical suites. He shook hands with the Blaisdells, glancing up in concern when he touched Paul's icy cold hand.

"Please, let's all sit down and I'll tell you how Peter is doing," the physician said.

Paul sat beside Annie, sighing softly with the comfort of her touch as she wrapped her arms around his. There was something so calming in her physical contact and it helped Paul to remember his manners.

The doctor, a tall blonde man in his thirties began to speak. "Your son is a very lucky man. He took quite a beating tonight on top of his previous injuries, ripping out most of the original stitches we'd done yesterday. That's why we had to go back in, to stop the bleeding. Then there are the burns. I know it could have been much worse, but there are some third degree burns that will have to be watched."

Paul sighed with a mixture of relief and dismay as Annie squeezed his hand.

The doctor continued. "We gave him more blood to replace what he'd lost, and then started in to repair the damage. Peter hung in there throughout the surgery. We will have to continue to watch him closely for infection."

"What about his other injuries?" Paul asked. "The concussion, and the burns he received tonight... on top of everything else? How does all that factor into his overall condition?"

The doctor sighed and it resounded with the depth of great fatigue. Paul surmised the man's two operations on Peter in less than twenty-four hours had weighed just as heavily upon him as it had on Annie and himself.

"Peter's got a lot going for him. He's young. He's healthy. He's strong. All of that is a big plus in his favor."

"But... " Paul prodded the doctor to finish what was left unspoken.

"I won't paint a rosy picture. Peter's been through a lot in the last day and a half. We need to watch him closely for a while, just to make sure he doesn't come up with any additional complications, but I do think we have his condition as stabilized as it can be at the moment. He will be staying with us for at least a few days," the doctor paused.

"The burns Peter received were relatively minor considering what could have happened and on the extremities, so it shouldn't complicate his primary wound. He will be in recovery for a while before he's moved. I am going to put him in ICU this time. I know you'll have an officer watching over him, but I dare anyone to get past some of my ICU nurses," he finished with a smirk.

Paul chuckled and nodded in agreement. "That's not a bad idea. The more people around, the better."

The doctor's gaze took in the beleaguered appearance of the two, then he frowned. "I must be frank with you, Captain. I do not like putting my staff in harm's way with what's going on with your son. Their jobs create enough stress as it is. Watching out for abusive stalkers isn't exactly in their job description."

Paul nodded. "We are working on that very issue, Doctor. I appreciate your honesty and hope to have this man under arrest as soon as possible."

"Good. That will make life easier for all of us. I think you two should go home and get some sleep. I'll have someone call you when Peter wakes up."

They stood and he shook their hands again before leaving. Annie turned to Paul and laid her head upon his chest. He gave her a long hug and then placed a kiss on the top of her head. Without moving, she whispered, "Why do I feel this is going to get worse before it gets better?"

Paul didn't have an answer for her, not even a lie. He glanced down at her, pulling away as he brushed at her long locks of hair. Even with her dark glasses, he could see her red, puffed eyes from silently shed tears. Sometimes, he thought, hospitals were harder on Annie than they ever were on him – she just didn't pace and grumble about it like he did.

He glanced back toward the door the doctor had come through from the surgical suites. Maybe Peter could tell them more when he regained consciousness, then he sighed without meaning to. The weight of his own fatigue was becoming an onerous burden.

Annie spoke up, "Paul, I can tell you are in pain, even if you won't admit to it. That hillside excursion took a lot out of you."

Paul brushed his lips across her forehead. "Nothing a couple of aspirin won't cure."

"I – I can't imagine what I would have done if Peter's car had exploded with both of you still in it," she whispered.

There, she had actually said the words he knew she'd been thinking ever since she heard the dangerous details of Peter's rescue.

"But we didn't, honey. I'm right here with you, holding you in my arms."

"It was so close," she persisted.

Paul knew his wife better than he knew himself. She needed to voice her fears aloud before she could lay them to rest. Right now, she was still in the 'scared and grateful' phase. Both he and Peter would be getting a lengthy lecture on personal safety within the next day or so when those emotions turned to anger, and then acceptance, but he didn't mind. How could he? He was holding love in his arms and she could do more for him than any pain reliever could ever do.

"I know. Close enough to even scare me, but we survived it."

"It's not over yet. Not until you capture the man who did this to our son."

Now, there was anger in her voice. She was making the transition, but she needed to rest. The exhaustion echoing in her voice resonated with his own. He drew her closer again and brushed his lips against her hair. "How about I take you home? And then I'll head into the precinct – "

"You aren't going anywhere but home, Paul Blaisdell," she said firmly, pulling away enough to place both hands on his chest. "You are still recovering from a serious injury of your own. If you are to catch this madman, you'll need to get some sleep and some food in your system. Otherwise, you are going to collapse and I simply won't tolerate that."

Despite her harsh tone, he had to smile. He'd always loved Annie's fire. It sparked a blaze within his own heart, often when he needed it the most, like right now. And it was burning most brightly. "Okay, it's a deal, boss."

She chuckled, reaching up to kiss him again. "I love you."

"And I love you, more than you'll ever know. Let's go home as ordered."

Annie paused, wrapping herself closer to him. She stopped and raised her head.

"First, we eat. I don't like the weakness and fatigue I hear in your voice. How about the cafeteria?"

"Sure, honey, whatever you like."

Paul put an arm around her shoulder and started steering her toward the cafeteria. He knew food was the last thing she wanted, but it was a necessity of life and something to do to take their minds off Peter for a few minutes. He grunted inwardly, as if a little food would prevent them from worrying over Peter. Hell would freeze over first. But they headed for the cafeteria anyway.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	4. Chapter 4

1

**Chapter Four**

Paul stood at the darkened doorway of Peter's hospital room. It was after midnight and he was on his way home from work. His last item of the day was to stop and check on Peter. He gave a nod to the officer on duty.

"Go, get a cup of coffee. I'll stay with him for a while."

The grateful policeman accepted the offer and left. Paul wandered into Peter's room and stood beside his bed. Kelly was gone. Annie had sent her to Mary Margaret's place to catch up on sleep. The poor woman was antsy, after spending day after day with Peter. Kelly wanted to do something to help, but there wasn't really anything she could do for Peter – except love and support him – and he was rarely conscious long enough for her to fulfill that need.

Paul had her on a leave of absence from work, figuring she'd never be able to handle being behind a desk for a few days, plus he didn't want that madman to make another run at her.

'_She's had enough to deal with,'_ he thought as the haunted look of fear in her eyes flashed through his mind – that look had been so prevalent after her kidnapping by the Shadow Assassin. And now it was back again.

"Damn it," Paul muttered to himself.

Another kidnapping so soon after last month's had reversed whatever progress she'd made since then, but the fear Kelly had wasn't only for herself. Paul knew she was deeply worried for Peter. It was the main reason she had spent hour after hour with him, even unconscious as he was, designating herself as his protector from further harm until she had worn herself down to a frazzle.

Paul sat down in his chair with heavy fatigue, then he reached forward, resting his elbows against Peter's bed. Finally, he took one of Peter's hands in his. It was the one free from burns. Paul rubbed the skin gently and then kissed it before setting the limp hand back in place.

"Peter, son, I need you tonight. I need your strength. I need your determination. Because I'm feeling a little weary and a whole lot older than I did a few days ago... "

There was a slight stirring and Peter's eyes opened slowly. Paul sat back, regretting his last words, not intending to actually awaken Peter when rest was what his son needed most. Peter's gaze was unfocused. As he started to move, he froze with spasms of pain.

Paul moved forward again. This time, he took Peter's hand and squeezed it so that Peter would know he wasn't alone. "Ride it out, son. I'm here for you. Just let it pass."

Peter took a couple quick gulps of air and turned his head toward Paul. "Dad?" he asked with a raspiness still lingering to his voice.

"Yes, Peter, I'm here."

"I was dreaming about you," Peter started. "You were with me in the Mustang and it was on fire."

Paul grimaced, wondering how many more nightmares these recent events would add to his son's ongoing inventory. "Yes, that happened, but we got you out of there and you survived."

Peter grunted, "Yeah, but the Mustang didn't. Kelly's gonna hold that over my head for a long time to come."

Paul smiled wearily. "No, the car didn't survive, but you'll find some way to make it up to her."

Peter groaned. "Yeah, but it'll be hell until she decides to let me off the hook."

Then he went silent, looking around the room. "Where is Kelly?"

"She's spending the night with Skalany. These hospital walls were starting to close in on her."

Peter looked puzzled. He rubbed his face and blinked a few more times. "How long have I been here?"

Paul paused. The days and nights had blended together so thoroughly, he had to stop and add it up himself. Lord, it seemed like an eternity had passed since the accident. "Five days."

"Five... days?" Peter repeated.

He went quiet, and then flinched with sudden physical and emotional pain. Paul could see the events playing on Peter's face, evidenced by the slight changes in his eyes and expressions. Finally, his gaze darted back to Paul.

"Kelly! Is she all right?" Peter asked in a rush.

Paul wanted to look away to avoid watching Peter go through the same pain again. The truth was during Peter's brief moments of consciousness, Paul had explained the events several times over the past few days, but it seemed to be information Peter couldn't or wouldn't retain.

"Yes, Peter, she's fine. Tired, but fine. She's been by your side all week, although you slept through most of it."

"So, that guy actually had her for a while?" Peter asked, confusion and fear marking his features, obviously troubled by not being able to remember more.

Paul nodded. He thought about how to word the next part of his explanation, wondering just how much he could tell him without unduly upsetting him. "She was never very far away from you. Your assailant had her and the guard who was outside your door in a supply room on this floor."

"Oh God," Peter whispered.

Paul didn't have to read minds to know that Peter was thinking the same thing he had as he walked into the room earlier. Two kidnappings for Kelly in a month, all related to Peter and Peter alone. Even in the dim light from the hallway, Paul could see Peter's face pale with worry before his expression contorted with guilt.

"Damn it, this is all my fault. If I hadn't tangled with that asshole, none of this would have happened."

"Peter, you don't know that for a fact. Like you said from the beginning, it wasn't random. This guy targeted you for whatever reason, and we will find that reason."

Peter glanced away from him. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, "Yes, but who else will he hurt in the meantime? Mom, Carolyn or Kelly, or you? Geez, nobody I know is safe. And Kelly, God, Kelly, she must be going out of her – "

Paul stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder. "Don't, son. Don't do this to yourself. Right now, you need to recover. Leave finding this guy to us. It's what we do for a living, you know."

Peter turned away from Paul and when he looked back, his eyes glimmered with tears. Paul reached forward, clasping Peter's shoulder. "What is it, son?"

"I've – I've tried to put that thing with the Shadow Assassins behind me. Tried to forget the four women who were killed simply because they knew me. Tried to forget that I almost lost you and Kelly to them."

Paul let Peter say what he needed to say, to get out the poison that had been festering inside of him for the last month. Caine had tried to talk to Peter about it at the time, but the young man wasn't ready to come to terms with it yet. Now, it appeared he was.

"But, Paul, it's happening all over again. I can feel it in my gut."

Paul shook his head. "Let's not jump to conclusions. Just stick to the known facts."

Peter's gaze darted around the room. "You stick to known facts and I'll listen to my gut. It hasn't steered me wrong before. People are going to die before we catch this perp and it's going to be my fault – "

Paul put a finger to Peter's lips. "Talk like that will lead to needless pain. And you've already had more than your fair share of pain to deal with. You're a cop. You're in a job where people die doing their jobs. Leave it at that. Nothing will ever bring back the dead, so let's focus on the living."

Peter took a deep breath as he tried to calm down. He stared at Paul for a long moment. "You look like hell."

Paul sat back and rubbed his stubbled chin for a moment, staring back at Peter. "You don't look much better yourself."

Peter turned his head, peering at Paul with sudden intensity, something that warned Paul that Peter was going to ask for something crazy. And then the question came. "What are the odds of letting me get up and sit in one of those chairs for a few minutes?"

Paul looked out the door toward the nurses' station. Peter prodded him on. "Come on, Paul, I'm not asking to go home. I just want to test my sea legs."

Paul gave him a hard stare, then finally shook his head no. "Son, you are in ICU. You're hooked up to wires and telemetry I have no idea how to undo, not that I should even consider trying it. You are going to have to stay in that bed until the medical experts say that you can be up and about."

Peter cursed and brought one arm over his eyes. Paul reached forward and touched Peter's shoulder. "You know what I'm saying is for the best, don't you?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't make living with it any easier." He dropped his arm to the bed and sighed.

Paul nodded grimly, and then leaned closer to Peter. "Now, while I've got you awake, talk to me about your assailant. How did the attack go down the other night?"

Peter's expression tensed and he took his time before answering. "This whole mess just doesn't make any sense. I don't remember the guy. Not from the first meeting. Not from the second. And that laugh is so distinctive. I can hear it even now. If I've ever run into him before and he'd laughed, I would know it now. Just like Roger Chin's giggle, distinctive."

"Was there anything that the perp said that would help?"

Peter's gaze darted around the room as he tried to remember specifics. "He likes to taunt me with questions and demeaning comments – like he hated me more than anything else in life. From what I can remember, he was about six feet tall and bald, but in the darkness of the room, that's about all I could see."

Peter stopped speaking and grunted. "That, and the fact that he seems pretty determined that I was going to burn." Holding up his bandaged right hand, Peter added, "It seems he's getting closer to achieving his goal."

Paul shook his head. "Close, but he's not going to get any closer. Anything else that would be of any help?"

Peter hung his head and sighed, fatigue slowing his movements. "Not that I can think of."

Peter looked up at Paul with a sudden, penetrating stare. "You know he has to contact me again if we're to catch him."

Paul was silent as he sat motionless in his chair.

"If we are going to nail him, I've got to be more accessible for him to contact me. I know you, Paul. I know that right now, you've got this place locked up tighter than Fort Knox."

When Paul glanced over at him, he said, "You've got to get me out of here."

Paul chewed on his lip. "Well, I'll talk to your doctor about it, but I don't think he'll release you for at least another week. In case you've forgotten, you racked up quite a list of injuries."

Peter reached forward to clasp Paul's forearm and met Paul's troubled gaze. "You know I'm right. Talk to the doc, but talk to him like a man who needs to capture a dangerous criminal at any cost, and who's willing to do whatever sacrifices are necessary to make that happen."

Paul frowned. "Don't talk to me about sacrifices," he snapped, and then brushed a hand through his graying hair.

Blaisdell stood and took a few steps from the bed. "You make it difficult, Peter, to separate work from family. With you, it's all mixed together, no matter how hard we try to keep it separate. I'll have to think about this. I'll talk to Frank and Kermit, and get back to you."

Peter nodded.

"In the meanwhile, I want you to promise me that you'll call me if our firebug contacts you. I don't think he'll try anything in our present setup, but he might. Swear to me... "

Peter sighed. "I swear, Paul. But I also swear that this situation isn't going to stay status quo for very long."

Paul nodded. He caught the uniformed cop returning to his post outside Peter's door. "I can't argue with you about that. Now, it's time for you to sleep and for me to go home. I'll be back tomorrow and we will discuss this further, okay?"

"It's a deal," Peter said as he settled back against his pillow, sleepiness already altering his demeanor.

Paul reached forward and kissed him on the forehead, lingering there for a moment. "Good night, son."

He thought Peter had already fallen asleep when he didn't reply, so he headed for the door. It had been a very long day and until they caught their perp, his schedule wasn't likely to change.

"Night, Dad. Love you."

Peter's softly whispered goodbye stopped Paul in his tracks. He glanced back at Peter, thinking how Peter had just sounded like his teenage self.

"I love you too, son. Sleep well."

This time, there was no reply, so Paul headed out, but a part of him stayed with Peter, even as he drove home.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	5. Chapter 5

1

**Chapter Five**

"So, the doc was okay with moving Peter into a regular room today?" Kermit asked as he walked along side Paul down a hospital corridor.

Paul scratched his forehead. "I don't think he was completely comfortable with it, but he agreed." Then he sighed and dropped his hand to his side. "A part of me wishes he would have refused."

Paul felt Kermit's questioning glance, so he continued, "The more freedom Peter has, the further he will push the edge of the envelope. It's just the way Peter's mind works."

Kermit just shrugged. They rounded the corner and Paul's ears perked up at the sound of a heated argument. When they entered Peter's room, Paul saw Peter, Skalany and Kelly standing in the center of the room with Peter and Kelly going at it. Mary Margaret stood with her hands between the two as if trying to calm them down. It wasn't working.

"Peter, just listen to me!" Kelly shouted at Peter.

"It's crazy!" Peter yelled back at her, then he threw a hand up in the air and began to pace.

Paul gave Kermit a sideways glance and said, "See what I mean?"

Peter's IV was gone and he was wearing pajamas instead of a hospital gown, so now he was mobile, too. The new freedom didn't seem to help Peter's air of frailty. Frankly, he didn't look strong enough to be pacing the room like he was.

Paul cursed under his breath and said quietly, "Let's take this down a notch, folks. We are in a hospital. I wouldn't tolerate this at the precinct. Not even at home, so I'm sure as hell not going to tolerate it here."

Peter flashed Paul an angry glare, one borne from deep frustration. When Paul glanced over at Kelly, she wore a similar expression. Both of them were bouncing off each other like hyperactive ping pong balls. Obviously, the tension of the previous week had reached the boiling point for the two of them.

The room went silent as Peter and Kelly complied. Paul put a hand over his mouth as he noticed Peter's slightly bent forward stance. "Peter, sit down before you fall down."

Peter started to protest, but Paul cut him off with a glance. Looking to the others, he said, "Everyone take a deep breath before another word is said."

Peter sat down in a nearby chair, while Kelly stood stoically beside him, her arms crossed in front of her. Paul scratched at his forehead in irritation, not sure how to proceed. Slowly, he began pacing in front of the door. "So, let's start with the easy questions first. What's this all about?"

From the corner of one eye, he saw a myriad of expressions and body language displayed in the three. Peter's face tensed in frustration and guilt. Kelly's was more of exasperation and fear. Skalany was just a picture of overextended patience, but none of them appeared willing to be the first to speak.

Paul stopped in front of Skalany, opting for her objectivity regarding the lovers' current spat. Mary Margaret sighed, looking very uncomfortable. "Kelly wants to leave town. She's going crazy not working and with nothing to do but watch Peter recover... Um, those were her words," she said, glancing to Kelly with a bit of chagrin.

Kelly nodded her head in agreement. "She's right, Captain! I'm useless here. Useless at home. Useless at helping Peter. I need to be... somewhere else!"

She spun around to face the window, unable to see Peter's reaction, but Paul saw it. Her words seemed to cut into Peter's heart as easily as if she had slashed his chest with a stiletto.

Paul scratched at an irritating eyebrow as he said, "Kelly, you know we can't let you just go off anywhere you want to with this madman still on the loose. He came after you once, he could do it again. To ignore that fact would be putting your life in unnecessary jeopardy."

"Being here didn't help, Captain. I could just as easily been killed that first night here instead of being knocked out, besides he's after Peter, not me!'

Peter didn't say anything for a long moment, just simmered in his silent stew of emotions, then he pivoted in his chair toward Kelly. "Look, Kelly, I understand how you feel. Maybe more than you know, because I'm stuck here 24/7 until I'm released... "

He paused, taking a deep breath. "What – what about the cabin, Paul? This guy can't know about it. We were going to go there anyway. What if someone goes up to the cabin with Kelly, to watch over her? Wouldn't that give her the space she needs while also keeping her safe?"

Paul's heart ached for Peter, knowing how hard it was for him to let her go when he needed her love and support the most. He glanced over at Kermit for moral support, but the ex-merc simply shrugged. He shot Kermit a look that said _'thanks for nothing'_ and turned back to the others.

"Skalany, would you be willing to go up to the cabin with Kelly for a few days? My goal is to have this guy behind bars and everyone home safe and sound before too much longer."

Peter looked up at Paul. "I could go, too. I mean, they've taken out the IV. I'm not running a temperature or anything. I'm just a little sore, a little weak, but nothing that would be different staying here or staying up there."

Paul almost laughed out loud and shook his head. "Good try, son, but there's no way you are going anywhere that I can't easily protect. Kelly's right. This guy is obsessed with you for some reason. Your presence at the cabin would only jeopardize Kelly and Skalany."

Peter sighed and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Well, it was worth a shot," he muttered.

Paul walked over and patted Peter on the shoulder. "You're improving, but let's not push things. I'm afraid you're my bait for what we have planned. I need you here, not at the cabin."

Peter sat up a little too quickly and hissed for a moment before shaking it off. "What do you have in mind?"

Paul turned to Skalany and Kelly without answering him. "You can go ahead and leave. Take your weapons and your cell phones. I want regular check-ins with the precinct and I do mean regular. Kelly, don't bother stopping at your apartment. Buy what you'll need at the store and then leave town as soon as possible. I want you out of the danger zone. I sent Annie and the girls away to stay with an old army friend of mine this morning for the same reasons. When we spring this trap, we want all of the innocents out of harm's way."

Kelly frowned. "I'm a cop, Captain. Not exactly an innocent."

Paul nodded. "True, but you've already been a victim of this man's attacks and I don't want you to suffer another one. Got it?"

Kelly sighed in reluctant agreement, and then nodded. She knelt down beside Peter, taking his face in her hands. "It's not you, Peter. You've got to know that. I love you more than I've ever loved any other man, but this – this is making me crazy. I'm not any help to you crazy. In fact, I'm a hindrance. I want you healthy and strong again. I want you out of this guy's reach. I love you."

Peter nodded in agreement, forcing a smile on his pained expression."If you really need the time away from me and this place, then go. Go and relax, then come back when this is all resolved. I promise to take you back up there, just the two of us like we planned before this started. I promise to make all of this mess up to you."

Kelly's eyes shimmered with tears. "There you go again, lover. Taking the blame for the world. None of this is your fault. None of it. Just get through it and come back to me. I'm just sorry I'm not strong enough to stick it out here with you here."

There was an awkwardness in the room as the two lovers kissed and then separated.

Paul looked at Mary Margaret. "Skalany, call the precinct. Bob McMasters is on duty. Take him with you and I'll send someone to relieve him in the morning."

Skalany nodded in agreement. "Yes, sir."

Kelly stopped at the door with Mary Margaret, pausing long enough for one last look, then whispered, "Be safe, Peter, I need you in my life."

Peter nodded, then the two women left.

**oOoOoOoOo**

After they were gone, Kermit and Paul sat down beside Peter and Kermit pulled out his laptop. "I've run every case you've ever been associated with in any possible way, and there is simply no case history for you and a perp with a yen for fire."

Peter sat back and sighed, rubbing his face. The young man looked like he was running out of steam, along with a lack of concentration. Paul figured that his mind was still with Kelly and not on the issues before him, but he didn't say anything.

When Peter spoke up, his voice was tired, in a tone sounding older than the Ancient. "That's what's been driving me crazy about this case. I don't ever remember crossing paths with someone like him. Not ever. He's too distinctive to forget. I just wish I knew what the hell was going on."

Kermit sat back, studying Peter for a long moment, then glanced at Paul. "I need some caffeine after staring at this keyboard for hours on end. Can I bring you anything?"

Paul nodded. "How about a round for all of us?"

Peter nodded too, though he didn't seem enticed by the offer. Paul knew why Kermit was leaving – to give the father and son a chance for a heart-to-heart, so they could really get down to work.

"Talk to me, Peter," Paul said as soon as Kermit left the room. He leaned close to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You seem stronger today, but there's an air of despair in here that you could practically cut with a knife. Is it just Kelly or is there something more we need to talk about?"

Peter stood, gingerly walking toward the window to look out at the dreary rain falling outside. "It's not just Kelly. I don't blame her. Really, I don't. She's been through a lot and this can't be easy for her."

Paul followed him over to the window, leaning against the window pane as he watched his son closely. "Then what else is it?"

Peter smirked and offered, "Hospitalitis?"

His attempt at humor failed. They both knew how much Peter detested hospitals, but what was running through Peter was deeper than that usual aggravation.

Paul shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

Peter bit his lip as he stared outside. "Maybe it's associated with... my father. I always get so pissed at him when he shows up out of nowhere and sweeps in to save the day, without even asking if it's okay first."

He paused, his hazel gaze going dark. He looked out the window without seeing, as if he were viewing the distant past instead of the storm outside, then continued, "But I'd give anything if he and the Ancient would walk through that door right now. This damned case has me so confused, I just can't seem to find my way through any part of it. Maybe Pop could steer me in the right direction."

Peter stopped, his expression contorting with pained guilt as he glanced at Paul. "I don't mean to say you aren't helping me. You are. It's just that... "

"Peter, your father has abilities I don't possess. Don't worry about it. I didn't take offense. I can't. What you are saying comes from your heart. Hell, I wish he was here, too. He might have been able to help us find this guy sooner, without having to put you in harm's way again."

Peter nodded, his voice growing softer the longer he spoke, "Exactly. Why is it when it seems like I need him the most, he always disappears?"

As Paul gazed at Peter, Peter closed his eyes, sighed, then shook his head and added, "Well, not always disappears, but he's gone a lot."

Paul smiled and gave Peter a pat on the shoulder. "Maybe it's his way to give you the space you need to grow on your own, to see what you can do yourself. Son, you're one of the best cops I've ever had under my command. You have my respect and admiration," he said with a smile, his hand moving from Peter's shoulder to the back of Peter's neck.

"I guess I'm ready to hear your plan when Kermit gets back. I haven't played live bait in a long time," Peter said with a smirk.

Paul frowned. "Yeah, well, I'm not thrilled with the concept. You're not strong enough to go one-on-one with this guy, but I'm hoping with enough backup, you won't have to even touch him."

Peter scratched his chin with its five days growth of stubble. "Paul, if I get a chance to take this guy down, I will. And if he resists, I'll put him in the hospital myself."

Paul squeezed his hold on Peter's shoulder. "Let's stick to reality and not wishful thinking, Peter. Remember your limitations. We will catch him, but I want it done safely. Frankly, I'm getting pretty sick of hospitals myself."

Peter smiled and nodded just as Kermit showed up with the coffee. It was time to get started and Peter finally looked like he was ready to work.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Kelly and Mary Margaret arrived at the cabin in the late afternoon and had a fire going in the fireplace in practically no time at all.

"You know, in all the time I've known Peter and the Captain, I've never been up here. It's beautiful," Skalany said with her arms folded in front of her as she stood on the porch and gazed out at the lakeside scene.

She saw Bob McMasters down by the car, then he walked over to the dock. His gaze swept around the area for a moment before he started walking toward the back of the cabin.

"Mary Margaret, it's too damned cold to be staring at the scenery," Kelly called from inside the cabin. When Skalany turned around from the open front door, she smiled, seeing Kelly with her arms wrapped around her as she stood by the fire.

"Okay, okay, I get the message. Outside – cold. Inside – warm. I think I can handle that, but it sure is pretty outside looking at that lake and the mountains surrounding it."

Kelly laughed at Skalany. "Yes, it is. That's why I was looking forward to some quality time with Peter here."

Skalany smirked. "Sorry, hon, I'm not Peter. I don't know about you, but I'm starved, and Bob is always hungry."

Kelly nodded and headed for the kitchen. "I guess it's time to start dinner. It won't be anything fancy. Sauteed chicken breasts and steamed veggies."

Skalany followed her. "I'll help, you just tell me what you want me to do," she offered as she followed Kelly into the kitchen. "My mother tried and tried to teach me how to cook, but I never learned. Boiling water is about as complicated as I get."

Kelly chuckled. "It's okay. Don't worry about it."

Kelly started laying out the items they would need from the grocery bags they had brought with them, placing the dry goods in the cabinets, but then noticed Skalany watching her closely.

Mary Margaret cleared her throat. "Speaking of cooking, it seems like something's cooking inside of you. I can practically feel it radiating off of you. Wanna talk about it? Or do you want me to simply be your culinary slave?"

Kelly laughed, but it was a sad laugh, one filled with remorse and uncertainty. Skalany didn't push her anymore, giving Kelly time to gather her thoughts. Kelly turned her attention to the food preparation.

"Here, how about you chop up these vegetables while I get the chicken started," Kelly asked as she handed Mary Margaret everything she would need.

"Sure," Skalany replied. "I can handle a knife."

Kelly poured some olive oil into a pan and turned on the heat. After a moment, she added some garlic and the chicken breasts. Skalany started washing and peeling, then Kelly picked up another knife and started chopping the prepared vegetables.

Mary Margaret couldn't help but notice Kelly's aggressive style with the knife, almost as if she was relieving her frustrations by chopping carrots, onions, and broccoli into tiny little pieces. Skalany wondered if Kelly was going to remain mute for the remainder of their stay. If that was the case, it was going to be a very long couple of days.

"You know Peter lives in a different world than the rest of us," Kelly started finally.

Skalany smiled and nodded her head. "He sure does, but it's not his fault. Runs in the family, you know."

Kelly placed her knife on the cutting board and said, "I just don't know if I can live in his world, watching him and his father do those impossible things they do."

Mary Margaret remained silent as Kelly continued, "And then there's the danger that seems to envelop them on a regular basis. I always thought I was a pretty tough gal, but what they face is something altogether different."

Skalany stopped what she was doing and rinsed her hands. As she dried them with a towel, she turned back to Kelly. "I feel for you. Really, I do. You've been through a lot in the last month. A hell of a lot. I guess it all boils down to how much do you love Peter and what are you willing to put up with?"

Kelly nodded, and turned away from the counter and Skalany. "I've thought a lot about it. Sometimes, Peter is with me in every way possible. Those are the best times. And then there are other times when he's... just not ready to commit to me as much as I need him to. At least not as much as I think a couple really in love would and should do to maintain a long-term relationship."

Skalany nodded as Kelly paused to turn the chicken breasts. "And this stalker thing. It scares me. I can't protect Peter. He won't let me help him deal with his fears and frustrations over the repeated attacks. When he needs me the most, he just pushes me away. I tried to be there for him, I really did, but he can't or won't let me in all the way. Or maybe it was me unable to reach out to him hard enough. I just don't know. It gets so confusing with Peter."

Skalany smiled. "I wish I could tell you what to do, but maybe some time apart will be a good thing. Give both of you some time to think things through a little. I just wish there was more I could do to help."

Kelly smiled and leaned over, squeezing Skalany's arm. "You just did, by letting me ramble. It does help me sort things out."

"Well, then, ramble all you want. They don't have a television here and I forgot to bring anything to read. So I guess it's just the two of us to sort things out, like you said."

Kelly went silent for a moment, drawing Skalany's attention again. "What is it, Kelly?"

"There's something about this case that's tweaking at the back of my mind. Something familiar, but I can't put my finger on it. I guess there's just been too many distractions lately for me to think clearly."

Skalany smiled and patted her on the shoulder. "Don't worry, you won't have any distractions up here, so maybe it will come to you. Why don't I call the precinct and let them know we got up here okay while you finish up dinner?"

"Bob already did," Kelly said simply. "While you were in the bathroom."

Skalany nodded. "Okay, so that leaves me in a kitchen with nothing to do, kind of like the proverbial fish out of water."

Kelly chuckled. "Don't worry about it. I'll find you something to do."

Mary Margaret glanced out the kitchen window and saw Bob was still doing a sweep around the cabin. He was so quiet most of the time, she almost forgot he was there, but she knew he'd been a sergeant in the army and he could carry himself in nearly any situation. She'd let him protect them from outside danger while she helped Kelly sort things out inside.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Paul and Kermit returned to the hospital hours later, only to find Peter pacing his hospital room. Paul could tell Peter's anticipation to get started had him needlessly wasting energy.

Peter jumped on Paul before he was actually in the room. "Where the hell have you been? I thought we were going to – "

"Peter, I told you to rest," Paul said with a long suffering sigh.

"I have rested, Paul... all damned week! It's time to stop resting and start moving on this guy! I want my life back!"

"Hi, Peter. Having a good day?" Kermit asked as he went past him to set up his laptop.

Peter shot Kermit a dirty look before glancing back to Paul. "Look, they've backed off on the narcotics. I don't need that crap anyway. It keeps my head too fogged up and I need to be able to think on my feet, so I'm ready to get started."

Paul rubbed the back of his neck. Peter was moving up Paul's proposed time table without asking. "The doctor reduced your pain medication or did you?" Paul asked suspiciously.

The flux in Peter's expression said it all. Peter had refused to take his pain meds.

"Peter, if we are going to do this, we are going to do it my way."

Peter ran a hand through his hair, paced a few more steps, ending up at his bed. He sat down on the edge and let out a long breath he'd been holding. Paul couldn't help but notice the placement of Peter's hand at his side and the mist of sweat glistening on his skin. Once again, Peter was pushing things too far too fast.

Paul went over and sat in a chair in front of Peter. Taking one of Peter's hands, he raised it up and watched Peter's fingers tremble with exhaustion. "Just how long have you been pacing?"

Peter pulled the hand away and shook his head. "I don't know," he mumbled as he stared at the ground. "A while, I guess," he added with a sigh.

Paul stood again, pausing in front of Peter with his hands on his hips. "Kermit, we're heading back to the precinct. Peter needs to rest before we do anything more."

Peter's head snapped up, even as Kermit started to pack up his gear again. "What? Paul? Come on here... No, no, no, don't do this to me!"

Paul bit his lip and locked onto Peter's frantic gaze. "You did it to yourself, Peter. I won't have you back in ICU because you've pushed yourself too hard. This will have to wait until this evening after you've had a chance to rest."

"Rest?" Peter exclaimed, his gaze darting to Paul and Kermit before sweeping around the room for some magical clue to help him evade Paul's pronouncement. "You have got to be kidding me!"

"Yes, rest, which you will get after I stop by the nurses' station and tell them you are asking for your pain medication."

Peter's gaze narrowed before he folded his arms around his middle and rocked for a moment. "Okay, maybe I could use it right now, but I'm not staying on that stuff forever."

"Not forever, just right now."

Peter let out a long breath of reluctant acceptance. "Damn it," Peter cursed as he turned to lie down on his bed.

Paul turned to Kermit. "Could you let the nurse know that Peter is ready for his pain med now?"

As Kermit walked out of the room, Paul helped Peter bring his feet up, and then covered his legs with a blanket. "I do owe you an apology, Peter. Kermit and I got tied up on a case and that's why we were late."

Peter nodded, his face still creased with the lines of pain and fatigue. "I'm sorry for biting your head off, too," he whispered.

The nurse came in behind Kermit. "I thought you'd change your mind, young man," she said as she motioned for Peter to roll to one side. She swabbed the skin of Peter's upper hip and injected him with the medication. "I'm glad you came to your senses."

Glancing up to Paul, she winked at him and mouthed the word thanks.

Paul nodded at her and she disappeared out the door. He patted Peter on the shoulder. "Just rest. And I mean really rest this time. We'll be back this evening... Be prepared, it will probably be late and then we'll go over what we've done since this morning. Try to get some sleep. I need you as strong as possible."

"I am getting stronger."

"Getting there and being there are two different things."

Peter's eyes rolled in typical Peter form, but when they closed, they stayed closed a moment longer than they should have. Rest was the best thing for him, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

"We'll be back."

Peter nodded again, but his eyes never really opened all the way. "Okay, see you later," he repeated dreamily.

Kermit caught Paul's gaze and they left without another word.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	6. Chapter 6

1

**Chapter Six**

Peter sat on his bed while Paul explained his plan, feeling frustrated by the way his energy levels seemed to wax and wane, but at least he seemed stronger overall, more like his old self for the first time since the car accident.

"One of the first things we did after having you moved into a regular room was to activate your phone for outside calls. There's a trace on the phone, along with a setup for recording the conversation."

Peter nodded. "Good. Maybe if he can contact me, we can get this show on the road."

Kermit hit a button on his laptop and then cursed. "Ah, damn it, I can't believe I did that. Now, I have to resort this data. I generated a file on your old cases and a second file involving perps associated as fire bugs only. Don't worry, it will only take a minute."

Paul leaned over and touched Kermit's arm as something caught his eye. "Hold on there, Kermit."

Peter moved closer to see what Paul was looking at as did Kermit. "What's that case under Kelly's arrest file? Looks like he was one to torch his victims... "

"Ah, shit," Peter whispered, his head dropping back to the pillow as he put a hand over his face. "What if all of this isn't related to me, but to Kelly? And the guy's just coming after me first for some bizarre reason?"

"Long stretch, kid," Kermit said as he opened the case file, but paused as he squinted to read, then straightened in his seat. "Then again, you might be right on the money. Willie Stamper served almost one year after being convicted on charges of murder and arson. He was released three weeks ago on a technicality that had his conviction overturned. He's a regular law-biding citizen now according to the courts."

"Bring up his mug shot. I want to have a look at this guy," Paul said.

Kermit nodded and clicked on the link for the man's picture. Peter shook his head in anger. "That's him. Shit, it all fits. Can you frigging believe that?" Peter exclaimed.

"Here it is in black-and-white," Kermit said, leaning back in his chair as he sighed.

Paul stood. "Well, at least we have a pretty good idea of who we may be dealing with. Kermit, call the precinct and get out an APB on this guy right away. I want his face and description on every cop's hot list before the hour is out. And we better check on Kelly and Skalany to warn them that Stamper might be after them."

Kermit nodded and pulled out his cell phone. The call concluded moments later, but Kermit's demeanor had darkened during the brief interchange. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "It gets worse."

He looked at Paul. "Kelly, Mary Margaret and McMasters missed another check-in."

Peter glanced back and forth between the two men. "Another?"

Paul bit his lip and looked away. "I didn't want to alarm you, Peter, by telling you, at least until I could confirm things, but now... "

Peter slammed a fist against his thigh and shook his head. "It's starting. Don't you see it? It's starting. Stamper's got them."

Paul leaned closer to Peter, placing a hand on Peter's shoulder to calm him down. "Now, Peter, don't jump to conclusions. Did Dodger call back yet?" he asked, looking at Kermit.

Kermit shook his head.

"Dodger?" Peter asked, glancing at Paul. "You mean Doug Doggins, that old retired cop who lives near the cabin?"

Paul nodded, then looked at Kermit for a reply.

"He was supposed to call Frank back right away... " Kermit paused as he met Paul's gaze. "He never called back."

The room went silent, then Peter threw back his blankets in preparation of standing. "Damn it! I said it was starting and I was right. People are gonna start dying, if it hasn't already begun! I can't believe this is happening again."

Before Paul could respond, Peter's cell phone rang. Peter picked it up, glancing at Paul with alarm. "It's Kelly's cell phone number," he said, then licked his lips.

He took a deep breath, then said, "Caine," as easily as if he'd been at the precinct. Maybe, in a way, he was already on the job, considering the plans they were currently making.

"Hey, po-lice-man, feeling any better? Recovered from my latest visit?"

Paul and Kermit must have realized who he was talking to because they went into action. Paul cursed and said, "He's doing an end run around our setup here. Put a trace on Kelly's cell phone."

Peter was vaguely aware of their actions as Stamper replied, "I just wanted to let you know not to worry about the others. Not yet."

"The others? Who do you mean?"

"Don't act stupid with me, Caine! I followed Kelly and your partner up to the cabin today. I watched them make dinner, talking like they didn't have a care in the world. And that watchdog they sent along with them never saw me coming. Now, he's dead and I've got the two women. They are tucked away from the rest of the world. Remember this... I'm the only person in the world who knows where they are."

The caller laughed that shrill giggle of his again before continuing, "Oh, and I'm sorry about that old man who came snooping around here, too. I didn't even have to do a thing to get rid of him. He didn't see one of my trip wires and now he's spread all over the countryside."

"Trip wires?" Peter's jaw twitched with tension and his breathing became more rapid. "Look, stop messing around and tell me what you want from me!"

"I want you to burn. Like you would have done if they hadn't locked me away. You took my woman away from me!"

"Your woman? You mean Kelly?"

"Damned straight! But I got busted before I could get rid of you. Well, justice has been served and I'm out of that blasted hell hole. I've been following you and Kelly for weeks now. Just biding my time until I could make my move."

"She was never your woman! Get that through your thick skull right now!" Peter said, clenching a fist. "She was never your woman!"

"How the hell do you know that?" Stamper asked suspiciously.

"I've been with Kelly long enough to know," Peter said quietly, glancing at Paul and Kermit for a moment before darting his gaze away from them.

Stamper's voice held a wary tone. "You know who I am, don't you, Caine?"

Peter paused, rolling his eyes, not quite sure how to respond. Stamper just barreled on by saying, "Fine, it's no big deal. I know who you are, too. You're a dead man. And unless you want the deaths of those two women on your conscience too, you'll come up to the cabin alone."

Peter didn't like to be threatened, let alone hear threats about people he cared for. "Listen – " he started.

Stamper interrupted him, "No, you listen! Your appearance will be the only way those ladies survive, so you better make it fast. Alone and unarmed. I've got my ways of knowing and I'm prepared for any uninvited guests. And, Caine, don't make any stupid moves, because I've got them hidden away. You kill me or try to arrest me and they die – because there's no way in hell that I'm ever gonna talk. Got it?"

"Look, I've got it. You don't need to – "

Stamper released an ear splitting giggle and Peter pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment. Paul took the opportunity to approach Peter, glancing at him warily. Peter knew it was killing Paul not to know what was going on, but he didn't have time to deal with it.

Stamper began speaking like a wind up toy unwinding at full speed. "And in case you're thinking of storming the place with a platoon of cops, just remember that watchdog and the old geezer who came visiting without calling ahead. They should have stayed at home and out of our business. Whatever you do, know this – those women are so well hidden you'd never find them before they ran out of air. The clock is ticking. You better get your butt up here, Caine. I've got business to finish with you."

"Okay, I understand," Peter started, again trying to find a way to extend the phone call for the trace, but Stamper hung up on him. The trace didn't matter anyway, because Peter already knew where Stamper was... he was at the cabin waiting for him.

Peter threw his cell phone on his bed. "Damn! He's been after Kelly all this time! I vaguely remember the case now. Kelly was undercover at a bar frequented by several hookers who turned up dead, burned alive. Turned out it was the bartender, this Willie Stamper, doing the murders. He'd been trying to put the moves on Kelly, but she kept putting him off because she was already dating me."

He slammed a fist against the mattress. "How could I have not remembered that?"

"Easy now, Peter. At least we know who we are dealing with. That's half the battle right there."

"He said McMasters and Dodger are dead, just as we guessed, and that Kelly and Mary Margaret are hidden away. He said they'll die, too, unless I go up there."

Peter latched onto Paul's gaze. "He wants me up there at the cabin as soon as possible. Alone and unarmed."

"Like hell you're going up there like that," Kermit growled.

Peter cursed under his breath. "Well, what else do we do? They are going to run out of air if we wait around and our other plan just flew out the window!"

"You're not going up there alone, Peter," Paul said firmly.

"The hell I'm not!" Peter said as he got up from the bed and paced a few steps. He stopped and faced Paul. "I'm going with or without your approval, Paul, but get this straight, I – am – going, and I'm going right now!"

Paul caught him by the arm as he headed toward the closet for the clothes Kelly had brought him earlier. Peter whipped around angrily, then had to put a fist against his side as the motion pulled on it. Paul let go of Peter's arm, putting his hands up in silent apology.

Peter continued toward the closet, shaking his head in an effort to reign in his emotions. He heard Paul mutter something, then in a louder voice, he said, "Peter."

When Peter glanced back at him, Paul was scratching at the back of his neck with one hand, then he cursed under his breath. He looked at Kermit for a moment, then shook his head and said, "If you're so hellbent on going into the lion's den, I guess we'll have to try to cover your backside as best we can."

Peter stopped in stunned silence. He was prepared for a full blown battle, not help. He grabbed at the chance. "You know I can talk the legs off a piano, Paul. If I can keep him busy long enough, you guys could look around for Kelly and Mary Margaret."

"As long as you don't get yourself killed in the process," Kermit said with disdain.

Peter flashed him a grin as he took a dark shirt hanging in the closet. "Come on, guys, give me a little more credit than that."

Kermit frowned. "Peter, you can piss off a person faster than almost anybody else I know, except for yours truly. And that can get you killed."

"Look, I could catch a bullet between the eyes any day of the week just for being on the job... but this – this is for Kelly and Skalany. It's worth the risk."

Paul's gaze drifted toward Kermit before he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Paul looked like he had a lot more to say, but remained silent. Kermit's gaze darted up toward Peter and then he said, "What happened to alone and unarmed?"

Peter smirked as he pulled the button-style shirt on gingerly. "In retrospect, I may have been a bit rash."

Paul rubbed his chin, deep in thought. "We have to work out a scenario that protects you and the others. Some of us could approach from the lake, some from the forest, and hopefully it will give us the element of surprise."

Paul turned to Kermit as Peter stepped into the bathroom to finish dressing. "Get the precinct on the line. See who's available to assist – Blake, Powell, Chin. Get as many as possible. And I want backup search teams ready to go, just in case we can't get the needed information from Stamper. Plus EMTs. This guy has caught us off guard on more than one occasion and I'm damned tired of reacting. I want to start putting this bastard on the defense for once, scrambling to cover his own ass.

Kermit nodded, as if he had automatically slid in sync with Paul's thinking. "I imagine if Stamper has trip wires in place, he'll also have other surprises in store for us. We'll have to watch out for them. If we work fast and steady, we can get to him, and find the others before you go up in smoke... figuratively speaking, of course."

Peter grunted as he emerged from behind the bathroom door. "Thanks for that mental picture."

Paul's voice was low and sure as he said, "Don't make light of it. It's a very distinct possibility. I only pray that you've regained enough strength to move when you need to."

"I'm ready, Paul. Besides, I'm the least of your worries, getting the others free comes first."

"Like hell it does. I don't lose people on my operations, especially those in my own family."

Kermit nodded. "He's right, Peter. Paul doesn't lose people. Stamper just doesn't realize the can of worms he just opened. The deal will go down as smoothly as a sip of fine cognac."

Paul gave Kermit a sudden glare. "Don't you get cocky, either. This isn't going to be easy by any stretch of the imagination. Two good men are now dead because of Stamper's deadly head games. If any of us forget how dangerous Stamper can be, they'll be just as dead as they are. Peter, you need to get dressed and Kermit, you need to make some arrangements for me."

"What will you be doing?" Peter asked as he carefully sat on the bed with his socks in hand.

"Planning," he said quietly as he put his fingers together in a steeple and let out a long breath.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	7. Chapter 7

1

**Chapter Seven**

The rain had started up again by the time Peter arrived at the cabin. Not a heavy rain, but it was enough to be an irritation. Then again, Peter thought with a smirk, if there's going to be a possibility of fire, a little rain might come in handy.

It was close to midnight and the darkness would work both to their advantage and against them. There was little doubt in his mind that Stamper would have traps in place, just in case Peter brought backup. The prevailing darkness would make moving about in the terrain outside the cabin hazardous to say the least, but the darkness would also hide their presence. It was the yin and yang of darkness in covert ops. That thought made Peter smile for some bizarre reason, then he thought of his father.

Peter couldn't deny the fact he missed his father, especially right now, most especially when facing the possibility of death. He prayed Pop and Lo Si were both well and safe. A hug from either man would strengthen his spirit a thousandfold. Peter had learned long ago, he needed his friends and family around him, maybe because he'd already lost so many he'd cared about.

Peter sighed as he tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel. It was time to move on, to get things started, but a voice deep inside of him warned him to proceed with extreme caution – to think out each move, instead of acting instinctively. Willie Stamper was a very dangerous man, and not just because he was a demolitions expert and mentally unbalanced, but also because he was the only man in the world who knew exactly where Mary Margaret and Kelly were hidden.

Peter realized his hands had gripped the steering wheel very tightly during his dark thoughts, so he made his fingers relax. Peter had been chilled ever since leaving the hospital. Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was the uncertainty of what he and his friends would be facing. Whatever the reason, he was cold. He turned up the heat as he sat in one of the department's vehicles with its engine idling, looking down the road leading to the cabin. He'd just changed places with Kermit a minute earlier, taking the wheel as Kermit went to hide in the trunk.

A sudden flash of lightning was followed by a clap of thunder. Biting his lip, Peter hoped the increase in the storm's intensity wouldn't compromise the presence of the others. They were already moving into position. A flash of lightning at the wrong time might prove fatal for them.

Paul and Blake had just checked in. They had come in from the lake using a rowboat to be as silent as possible and were down by the dock. Jody and Chin had already arrived via the same route, and were in position on opposite sides of the structure, hiding in the lush forest area, just waiting for Peter to approach the cabin.

Peter took a deep breath. It was time to get going.

As if reading his mind, Kermit's voice came over the ear piece Blake had given him. "Riding in the trunk isn't my preferred mode of travel, kid. Let's move things along."

Peter grunted and pressed on the accelerator. "I hear you," he whispered, "You'll be out soon enough."

Peter took the road slow and easy as he used his memories of the cabin to visualize what was ahead. From what he could see from the road, the cabin looked dark. In fact, the whole place looked deserted, even though Peter knew that wasn't the case. Stamper was there, hiding somewhere with Kelly and Skalany, simply awaiting Peter's arrival – waiting to kill him, because he considered Peter to be his rival and the only hindrance to a life with Kelly. Peter shook his head at the sheer madness of it all.

Thinking back to Paul's orders, he went through the specific role for each detective on the team. His was simple enough. Just keep Stamper talking long enough for them to locate the missing women, or at least long enough to gain whatever information he could from the man who held all the answers. He had no illusions that Stamper was going to make this easy for him. None at all.

As Peter approached the cabin, there was a barrier of several fallen trees on the gravel road that led to the parking area. "It's beginning, Kermit. He's got the road blocked off. I have to leave the car now."

"Pop the trunk, and keep your eyes and ears open. He's probably not going to announce his first move, just spring it on you."

Peter grunted. "Yeah, well, that's a newsflash," he paused, softening his tone. "Keep your head on a swivel, Kermit. He could have this place booby-trapped from here to kingdom come."

"Oh yeah," Kermit said, using his standard response, "That goes without saying. I'll keep him in my sights and take him out if it looks like he's about to make his killing move on you. Just remember we'll be listening in on your conversation. If things go south, say the word and we'll be there."

Kermit smiled at Kermit's assurances. Blake had woven a microphone into the lining of Peter's shirt, so they would be listening in, but that didn't mean jackshit if Stamper acted without warning.

"Don't rush things either," Peter said quickly, "Stamper's holding all the cards right now. I need to keep him occupied for as long as I can. I know I can make him talk."

"Just don't push him too far too fast, kid. All you need to do is keep him busy."

"That's the game plan," Peter whispered, "I just wish we had a better hand to play."

Kermit grunted. "I've seen you play poker. You'll do fine no matter how the cards are laid out. Remember you've got backup, so you aren't doing this alone.

Peter cleared his throat nervously. "You sure that Stamper won't be able to pick up this radio frequency? He's no idiot when it comes to technical equipment. He was a top rated Navy Seal before they kicked him out... "

"Blake says if Stamper could pick up this frequency, he'd announce his retirement. In other words, no way."

The comment made Peter smile, a tiny little private smile that Stamper couldn't possibly see. "Okay, well, I'll see you after we've finished."

"Roger that. Stay sharp."

"Removing ear piece," Peter announced, and then he slowly set his feet outside the car after pulling the trunk latch.

He wiped his damp palms over his jeans as he prepared to stand, listening to the muted sounds of Kermit moving in the trunk. Kermit wouldn't leave the trunk until Peter was out of the immediate area. He slowly closed the car door as his gaze swept around the area.

There was another blinding flash of lightning, then the thunder shook the air, and the rain began to fall a bit harder.

"Stamper?" Peter called out in his strongest voice possible.

He stepped around the recently erected barrier and approached the darkened house, shouting Stamper's name again when the man didn't appear. He came to a stop within twenty feet of the cabin and stared at the front porch and shivered. The cabin's absence of normalcy clutched at his heart. He'd always associated the cabin with beauty, peace, love and family, and it had involved some of the best times of his life. Now, the place looked dead.

Dead. He didn't want to think of that word while looking for Kelly and Skalany. No, he had to think positive, they were going to find them alive – anything else was unacceptable. He thrummed his fist against his pant leg and shouted, "Damn it, Stamper, show yourself already. With this rain, I might catch my death of cold if I stay out here much longer."

Stamper stepped out from behind one of the columns on the front porch facing the lake, holding a gun on him. "Cute, po-lice-man, very cute."

"I try," Peter said, putting up his hands, but ready to move at a moment's notice.

"I bet that's why Kelly liked you. She always liked guys who could make her laugh."

"Do you honestly think you can make her laugh again after everything that's happened?" Peter asked, his gaze taking in Stamper and the area around him, watchful for booby traps.

Stamper grunted. "It'll just be a matter of time before she comes around to me again."

Peter forced himself to remain civil. "Maybe," he said, taking a few steps closer as he studied Stamper more closely. "Then again, Kelly can be hell on wheels if she's not happy about something... but you'd know that if you knew anything about her. Speaking of wheels, she's not gonna be real quick to forgive you for wrecking her Mustang. She's fanatical about that car... "

"I know everything I need to know about Kelly, asshole," Stamper sneered, glossing over Peter's last comment. "Don't presume I don't know her. I know what makes her laugh and what makes her cry. We were made for each other, you know. Kindred spirits. Though I'll never understand what she saw in you."

Peter smirked. "It's my winning personality," he said with a smile.

"Some personality. I saw you two arguing just a few days ago outside your apartment building. I followed her after she left you. She went to a nearby park and cried for a good long while. I'd never make her cry like that."

Peter took a deep breath, disturbed that Stamper had followed them around so easily, even more disturbed by the fact that he'd left Kelly crying and vulnerable. Stamper could have snatched her right then. Peter licked his lips as he considered his next words carefully.

"You're right," he said as he brought a hand to the back of his neck and paced a few steps. "I was wrong to let her get so upset. Kelly needs lots of love and attention – no, she deserves it, and I just can't always give it to her when she needs it most."

"Asshole," Stamper said, stepping closer. "You deserve to die just for that alone."

Peter nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I'm an asshole, but I grow on people. Really, once you get to know me, I'm not so bad."

Stamper grunted. "Caine, I'm not going to be around you long enough to care. Okay, it's time to start. Put your hands on that post and spread your legs."

Peter sighed, moving slowly, but did as ordered. He didn't try to keep the irritation out of his voice as he said, "You said to come unarmed and that's what I did."

"No sudden moves or you'll pay for it," Stamper warned as he came up behind him, then frisked him. When Stamper got to the Kevlar vest, he laughed. "What the hell do you think that will do?" he asked.

Peter glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "You didn't say anything about protection, just weapons."

"Cute. Now, take it off," Stamper said as he nudged him with the muzzle of his handgun.

"It was worth a try," Peter said, not relishing the thought of taking off his jacket in the drizzling rain.

He turned, facing Stamper, and shed his jacket, then the vest. The chill in his bones only grew. He started to put on his jacket again, but Stamper stopped him. "Keep it off."

Peter frowned. "It's kind of cold up here."

A mad glint came into Stamper's eyes. "You won't have to worry about that for very long. In fact, it's gonna get a lot hotter for you soon."

Peter swallowed hard, his mind scrambling to think of questions to throw at the man that wouldn't antagonize him. Finally, he asked, "What attracted you to Kelly in the first place?"

Stamper looked surprised by the question, then irritated. "What do you think? She's beautiful, both inside and out. So many women only worry about how they look physically. Kelly was different, way different than most of the sluts that came into my bar. She didn't belong there. She was too good for the place. She was too good to be around _'them'._"

Peter's gaze narrowed. "You mean the prostitutes you killed?"

"Scum of the earth," Stamper muttered. "Just like cops. Though, I've never set a cop on fire before. Ought to be interesting."

Peter cleared his throat. "You did try at the hospital... "

Stamper smiled broadly. "That? Oh, that was just foreplay. Trust me, if I'd wanted to kill you back then, you'd already be dead. Besides, what are you complaining about, you got out of it without too much damage."

"Easy for you to say," Peter muttered, unconsciously rubbing the bandage covering the burn on his hand.

Stamper circled him. "I just don't get what Kelly saw in you. Sure, you're a good looking guy, but Kelly looks for more in a man. She looks into your soul. I remember the first time she looked at me like that. It sent shivers down my spine. That's when I knew – that's when I really knew we were meant to be together forever."

Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "If she's so damned important to you, why are you risking her life right now?"

The words tumbled from his lips without realizing it and Stamper's reaction was immediate. Stamper took a step closer. "It's because I do care for her so much that I have to do this – so that we can start our new lives without anything from the past to hold us back. She'll be mine and she'll love every moment of it, especially when I show her how a real man makes love to her."

Peter stepped forward, seeing red, but realized what he was about to do and backed off, biting his tongue to keep from saying a dozen things that sprang into mind. He wanted to tackle Stamper right then and bash his brains out, but he couldn't. For Kelly and Skalany's sake, he couldn't. His hands balled into fists and he silently counted backwards from ten.

"What? No comeback, Caine? I'm surprised. I've kept up on you. The news has you pegged as a hothead who lives to shoot his mouth off. Seems to me you're keeping your cool pretty good. Why is that, po-lice-man?"

Peter let out a long breath and tried to look relaxed. "What's the point?" he said quietly. "Like you said, I'm a dead man."

Stamper smiled. "Yeah, you are, but not right away."

Peter couldn't hide the smirk that followed. "What? Are you toying with me for the hell of it?"

Stamper smiled smugly. "I do what I want when I want."

Peter knew deep down that he wasn't going to be able to give the others the full half hour they'd planned on, but he was determined to draw it out as long as he could.

"Why fire, Stamper? What's the attraction there?"

Stamper pulled out a lighter and turned it on. He stared at the flame, mesmerized. "Can't you see it? The way it consumes itself? Purifies everything it touches? It's amazing... "

There was such awe in the man's voice, but when Peter looked more closely, he saw madness reflecting in Stamper's eyes, madness intensified by the flames. Peter realized his mouth had gaped open as he'd watched Stamper and he closed it slowly, then took a deep breath.

"That's what you were doing when you killed those women? Purifying them?" he asked, knowing deep down that he should change the subject, but couldn't quite manage it. His curiosity was up, his patience down and he was tiring of the game.

Stamper looked at him, as if he'd forgotten Peter was even there. "What? Are you trying to analyze me, cop? Well, back off!"

He snapped the lighter off and on again, several times in rapid succession. "I've had people trying to get inside my head for years and I always outsmart them. That's why I'll win this little game between the two of us and Kelly will be mine forever!"

"Stamper, if you know anything about Kelly, you'd know she chooses what she does and who she sees. That was the whole problem. She never considered you as a lover. Never."

Stamper's expression contorted in rage and he took another step forward, but then turned and paced the width of the yard, putting some distance between the two of them. "Liar! All cops are liars! And liars get paid for their sins!"

Stamper pressed a series of buttons on a panel on his vest and explosions went off in Peter's vicinity. One of them had enough concussive power to knock Peter off his feet. He hit the ground hard, the force knocking the air from his lungs, and then he didn't move, except to try to breathe.

The only good thing about the explosives were that they weren't incendiary devices or else he'd already be burning. Peter was sure the fireworks wouldn't be too far off.

Stamper leaned down next to Peter and grabbed a handful of Peter's hair as he pulled his head back. "Did I ever tell you how I learned to use fire? I was an explosives expert in the Navy Seals, but they gave me a dishonorable discharge after deciding I liked to play with the accelerants a little too much. Go figure. It wasn't like I was doing anything wrong, just ridding the world of a couple of hookers. They could never pin their deaths on me, but they still kicked me out for being mentally unstable. Imagine that. Me, mentally unstable."

Peter grunted, but hadn't recovered enough to speak. _'No shit, Sherlock, you're about as loony as they come.'_

Peter's hand found its way to his injured side, pressing tightly against the ache throbbing there. And judging by the sensation of moisture under his bandages, he figured some of his stitches had opened up again. At least he wasn't burning... Not yet.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Paul and Blake heard the explosions and were moving along the lake's sandy shore at a faster pace when Blake reached out a hand and stopped Paul, nearly dragging him back off his feet. "What the hell?" Paul whispered loudly.

Blake simply pointed. "There's another trip wire."

He knelt down beside it. "This one leads to a fire canister of some sort."

Paul nodded, then proceeded to a point where he could see the cabin with his binoculars. He didn't like what he saw. Peter was down and Stamper was standing over him, ranting about something. Unfortunately, there was still no sign of Kelly or Skalany.

The dark night went white with lightning, nearly blinding Paul. Seconds later, the thunder came. It was so strong the ground shook. Paul frowned in silent dismay. They were battling so many obstacles, and now Mother Nature had decided to throw a few more in their direction.

"We're in position. What now, Captain?" Jody asked over the radio, her voice filled with worry.

"We proceed with the plan," Blaisdell said, depressing the button on his radio. "While Peter keeps Stamper busy, we look for our missing detectives. Kermit will take sniper point, hopefully to catch Stamper before he harms Peter."

"You mean harms him anymore, right?" Kermit asked with bitterness tight in his voice.

"That's enough, Kermit. Peter's doing exactly what he's supposed to be doing – distracting Stamper so that we can get in place, find our people, and then arrest that madman, so that he can never harm anyone ever again."

"Ah, damn it," Chin cursed.

"What is it?" Blaisdell asked, looking in the direction of the cabin.

"I just found McMasters's body."

They went silent for a moment. "Let that be a reminder to everyone to stay on their toes. Now, let's get to work. Spread out and watch yourself."

He signed off with the group, and then turned to Blake. "McMasters was a good man," Blake said softly.

Blaisdell nodded, but it was too late to deal with the dead. They had to find the living. He gestured with one hand. "Let's try the boat house first."

They headed off in that direction, ever watchful of any traps or wires positioned to kill them, maybe more so now that the death of McMasters was lingering in their minds.

"Paul, didn't you say you already took your boat out of the water for the winter?" Blake asked with obvious curiosity.

Paul turned to where Blake was looking and sure enough his boat was there in the water, cleaned up and ready to go. "People, be aware. Stamper has put my boat in the water, possibly as a means of escape. Keep your eyes open."

Paul sighed as he forced himself to move. Every part of him wanted to stay and watch over Peter, but they each had a job to do, so he left Peter, alone and unattended, to fulfill his own duties. Son or not, they had two women to rescue. He said a silent prayer of protection for Peter and then followed Blake toward the boat house.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	8. Chapter 8

1

**Chapter Eight**

Peter's consciousness faded in and out as he lay in a crumpled heap in front of the Blaisdell's cabin – only this was no longer a vacation retreat. It was a deadly battleground, and Peter was facing off against a dark and demented foe, a foe who had just drawn first blood.

Peter could hear Stamper lurking in the background, his giggle in high speed. He shook his head, trying to keep his mind focused on his mission. Unfortunately, all Peter seemed to be able to do was gasp for air and try to stay conscious – so much for carrying out Paul's orders.

Peter tried to shake it off, but couldn't. How the hell was he supposed to beat Stamper in their cat-and-mouse game when he could barely move? A bolt of lightning and its accompanying thunder startled Peter, causing him to gasp as he moved, pain flaring in his injured side, but the pain served a purpose. It reminded him of Stamper's presence. He opened his eyes cautiously, wondering what the madman was up to.

He froze when he saw Stamper kneeling right beside him, watching him intently. "I thought you were fading away on me, Caine. We've got way too much to do for you to wimp out this early in the game."

Stamper pulled Peter to his feet, nearly dragging him along when Peter couldn't keep up with him, twisting Peter's injured hand up and behind his back to keep him moving while his other hand held a fistful of Peter's hair. He used it to jerk Peter back to his feet whenever he stumbled. Peter was still too stunned from the blast to focus on much more than making one foot follow the other.

_'Geez, Peter, get your act together. Stamper's your mission... '_ Peter chided himself.

His old teachings from the monastery rumbled around inside his head – something Old Ping Hai used to say when he wanted to warn Peter about his fearless nature. _'He who rides the tiger finds it difficult to dismount.' _

Old Ping Hai's words had never rang more true. Peter was riding one hell of a tiger at the moment. His fist clenched as he battled a growing awareness that he might not get through this thing alive. It didn't matter as long as Kelly and Skalany were found safe and sound.

Peter glanced toward the barricade where he'd parked the car and wondered where Kermit had taken position. Kermit was a good shot, as good as Peter was, but would he be able to act before Stamper punched a button on his damned vest that would end his life?

It was something Peter didn't want to dwell on, so he forced himself to think of the others instead. Chin was supposed to enter the house from the rear, once he'd checked out the perimeter of the cabin. Jody was to enter through the storm cellar. Peter's first thought when he had approached the porch and saw Stamper standing there was that he needed to draw Stamper away from the cabin and more toward the lake, to afford Roger and Jody the time and stealth to go inside the dwelling, but not too close to the water because Paul and Blake were coming in that way.

He had achieved that goal. Stamper was right where he wanted him – he just hadn't planned on it hurting so much.

On the way up, Blake had gone over the types of booby-traps Stamper might have used to protect the entrances to the house, but had Blake covered all the vital details? As he was being dragged along, Peter prayed he had. If even one of those risking their lives to help him rescue his girlfriend and his partner were killed, it would leave a permanent scar on his soul, just deeply as the ones left when the Shadow Assassins had killed those four women... all innocents killed simply because they had crossed paths with Peter. And then, there was Dodger, a kindly gent, who had been retired from the police force for nearly ten years, now permanently retired from life.

Stamper stopped beside a post that had been used as a basketball hoop and threw Peter at it without warning. Peter grabbed at the post for support, but in his weakened condition, he simply slid down its length to the ground. He first landed on his knees, then sprawled his legs out as he held tightly onto the post to stay upright.

Stamper started in on one of his rants, ignoring the misery he'd just caused Peter. "You're thinking I'm going to tie you up to make you my captive prisoner, don't you? Well, I'm not. I don't need to. I don't need to because I don't fear you. You'll die soon, ridding the world of your presence. And then, Kelly and I will be off to start our new life together."

Peter glared at Stamper, tasting blood in his mouth and a welling hatred for a man he had never even met until the week before. He spat bloody spittle, aiming for Stamper's face, but hit his chest instead. There was a murderous cast to Stamper's face before he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped it away, then the man began to giggle.

"The sad thing about what you just did is, it was your best move. You're a dead man, Caine. You just happen to be still breathing. I'm not gonna kill you quick and easy, po-lice-man, so you better understand that right now. You cost me nearly a year of my life in prison, and that was a year away from the woman I love. So, you're gonna suffer – not nearly enough to suit me, but it will have to do."

Stamper wiped the back of his hand across his brow as his gaze swept the surrounding darkness. "Did you really come up here alone or are there hostiles out there ready to take me out?"

Peter rolled his eyes – like Stamper would take his word without investigating it for himself. "Stamper, you said you'd kill Kelly and Skalany unless I came up here alone. Do you think I'd risk their lives by doing something as stupid as bringing in outside interference?"

Stamper nodded, his expression revealing little, but he kept nodding as he circled Peter, then he kicked Peter's wounded side without warning. Peter struggled to breathe with both hands pressed to his side and he watched Stamper warily, waiting for another sign of an impending attack – not that he could do a lot about it when it did come, but at least it wouldn't take him by surprise again.

"But just to be on the safe side, I think I better... " Stamper's voice dropped off as he pressed several buttons on his vest.

Suddenly, the sound of multiple explosions boomed, then the night sky lit up in all directions around the cabin from the flames of dozens of fire bombs exploding in the distance. The blasts of the incendiary devices were much farther away and muted, but they definitely sounded different from the blasts that had sent Peter flying into the air earlier.

Peter hung onto the post for balance as he turned his head in the direction of the blasts, realizing they were coming from the various access roads leading to the cabin. Flames started leaping up, climbing trees and foliage, ignorant of the recent rains. He hugged the post more tightly as he watched Stamper's exaggerated giggling with bizarre fascination. The exertion was so intense it almost left the ex-Seal breathless. The man stared at the distant flames with glassy-eyed fascination.

Peter shook his head, wondering how the hell he was supposed to get through Stamper's madness and find out where the women were being held when all he wanted to do was take the man out.

Peter glanced back at the fires just barely getting started and shuddered. _'Geez, we're already dealing with fire and the night is still young... '_

Stamper's giggles finally eased off and he said, "That's just in case you have backup planning to use that road or any of the other side roads to get up here, Caine."

Stamper stood with his fingers brushing across the control panel he had attached to his vest. "I'm not some idiot, you know. I have ways of finding out if we are alone or not. As a matter of fact, there's something I should have already done."

He walked over to a large black case sitting by the wood stack and brought it back over to Peter, setting it on a large rock nearby. He took out a wand-like device attached to a small box. He walked over to Peter and waved the wand up and down Peter's body.

Stamper grunted. "Hmm, I thought sure you'd be wired. I guess it just shows how stupid you are. You really did come up here to save Kelly and your partner, even when you knew you'd be facing certain death... too bad your heroics don't mean shit to me."

He started giggling again as he turned to put away his equipment. As Stamper turned his back, Peter let out a long breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Blake's super-tech gizmos passed the first test. The second would be the radio transmissions. Kermit had said with Stamper's Navy Seal training, he'd probably check for that early on. Blake had sworn he'd found a frequency that wasn't entirely legal to use, but it was also one he doubted Stamper's equipment would be able to scan for.

Peter dived in headfirst, trying to distract Stamper from getting too involved with his gadgets. "Look, I know you're gonna kill me and I've made my peace with that, just as long as you live up to your vow to keep them both alive after – after you're done with me."

Stamper sneered, glancing away from the contents of his case and at Peter with irritation. The case itself had a plastic cover to protect it against the elements. Stamper brushed his fingers against the cover as he spoke, "I live up to my word. Unlike you, cop! Both my heat detectors and infrared scanners show profiles of moving objects too large to be animals lurking in the vicinity right around us!"

Peter bit his lip as he struggled to come up with a viable lie. Before he could stammer a word of explanation, Stamper loomed over him, shouting, "I should kill your partner right now!"

He hit Peter across one temple with the butt of his gun, again sending Peter spiraling towards unconsciousness. Even as he battled to stay awake, Peter began stammering, "No, no, I didn't! I didn't! I came up here alone! I swear! Don't you think the others would have surrounded you by now if they were here? Do you think they'd just stand around and let you do what you're doing to me without attacking you? Think about it!"

Stamper paused, rechecking his equipment. The thunder and lightning continued to increase in its intensity, inspiring Peter to up the ante on his game of high stakes poker with Stamper. He was about to make a wild suggestion, something he had no idea of if it was possible or not, but he tossed it out anyway.

"Doesn't weather affect heat detectors and infrared? Hell, with all this rain, thunder, and lightning, I'd be surprised if you didn't have anomalies in your readings," he rasped as he struggled to clear his head still ringing from Stamper's blow.

Stamper moved away from the case and peered into the darkness. "The rain isn't that heavy," he muttered, but it sounded like Peter had accomplished his goal of muddying the waters in Stamper's thinking.

"Yes, but this is mountain terrain. And bear season. The bears are getting ready to go into hibernation, but at this time of year, they come wandering over the property all the time."

Stamper frowned, deep in thought. Peter sought to distract him further.

"Look, I know I'm gonna die. That was settled when I decided to come up here, but does a dying man get a final request? Can I see both Kelly and Skalany one more time before you kill me?"

Stamper laughed at Peter's audacity. "A final request? You have got to be kidding!" Again, Stamper's distinctive giggle rode on Peter's nerves far worse than fingernails on a chalkboard could ever do.

Stamper stepped closer to Peter and knelt at eye level. "You are right about one thing. It will take time for Kelly to warm up to me again, knowing that I killed you. She doesn't need to see you like this. Otherwise, she might never renew her affections for me."

Peter bit his lip to keep from shouting that Kelly would never love him no matter what he did. Instead, he sighed and stared into Stamper's mad gaze. "But they are both okay? I mean, they are here and safe? Sorry to keep asking, but it's something I need to know before I can make my final peace with this."

Stamper's sneer returned. "Don't think I don't know what you are trying to do. You're trying to figure out where I've got them hidden."

Stamper stood and toyed with a long, narrow hunting knife, the type used for skinning the hides from dead animals. "You'd never find them in a million years."

Peter pressed on, knowing he'd probably reap Stamper's wrath by continuing, but it didn't stop him. "I don't know about that. I grew up here. I know every nook and cranny of this place. I bet you I could find them in less than an hour."

Stamper's giggle was a belly laugh this time. "An hour? It took me an hour to put them where they are. And if I don't finish with you in the next few hours, they may not live long enough for me to retrieve them safely."

Peter gasped with that revelation, but where could they be that took an hour to hide them and would kill them if not found in another few hours? Dear God, did Stamper bury them alive? Peter's breathing was now rapid with worry as his mind ran through countless possibilities and came up short.

Geez, if that was the case, then everything that he was enduring might be in vain. He might die without ever seeing Kelly again and that thought left a hollow place in his heart. Without their exact location, the others probably wouldn't be able to find the two in time. Peter knew Paul had told him to take it easy in prodding Stamper for information and keep his physical injuries to a minimum, but now looking into Stamper's wild-eyed gaze, Peter knew he couldn't hold back, no matter what happened.

He licked his lips and shook his head in mock amazement. "Wow, you've got me. I can't think of a single place around here that would take an hour to hide them. You're smarter than I thought."

Stamper spun on him. "What? Do you think if you suck up to me, I'm going to just tell you where they are?"

He reached down, grabbing Peter's burned right hand swaddled in bandages and raised it up against the post, stabbing it through with his hunting knife. Peter screamed, unable to keep silent with the sudden move. And the angle Stamper had pulled his arm was wreaking havoc with his side.

"That's for bull-shitting me, Caine! You better keep your mouth shut or you'll wish you were never born. Well, you'll probably wind up wishing that before I'm through anyway. Man, I know so many ways that can cause a person pain and make it go on forever. Lucky for you, we've got the time clock ticking. Tick, tick, tick," Stamper whispered as he reached into his case again.

He pulled out a pair of industrial gloves, the type used with caustic materials. After putting them on, he retrieved a small glass bottle from the case. He toyed with it in front of Peter, even as Peter was still trying to recover. "You ever play with acid, po-lice-man?"

Peter swallowed back a sudden rise of bile, caused not only from his pain, but also from what was implied by Stamper's latest words.

_'Acid. Shit, the man's got acid.' _

Peter coughed, then said, "No, can't say I have."

"It's amazing stuff, you know. Pure hydrochloric acid is almost like liquid fire. It can burn through just about anything if you use it properly."

"Thanks for sharing that with me," Peter muttered, steeling himself.

Stamper smiled maliciously before he started his inane giggling. "Yeah, I'm sure it was your sense of humor that lured Kelly into your bed and not mine."

With the mention of his girlfriend, Peter cringed. They had to find the women, if only to save them from Stamper's demented desire for torture, something he'd undoubtedly subject them to sooner or later. Without warning, Stamper spun around and sprayed the liquid over Peter's sprawled legs. With horror, he watched as the acid began to eat through the denim of his jeans.

Stamper knelt before him, watching him with barely masked anticipation. "I could have gone for your face, but I'm gonna wait for the real fire to do its damage there. You won't be so pretty once I'm done with you. Yep, a closed coffin will definitely be required."

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the pain, and then he opened them enough to glare at Stamper and whispered, "You used this shit on women unable to protect themselves?"

Stamper stood, but without a shred of remorse or regret in his movements. "Women? Hell, no. I used it on shameless hookers who sold their bodies to make a living as easily as I sold booze to the customers at the bar. Those weren't women! They were the dregs of the world!"

Peter bit his lip. Suddenly, he wished the storm, which had momentarily eased, would return with a heavy downpour, if only to dilute the acid searing through his pants.

"Tell... tell me one thing," Peter stuttered, his body's pain impulses practically overwhelming his every thought. "Why?"

"Why?" Stamper repeated, sounding unsure of what Peter was talking about.

"Why do you do this? For fun? Or did you get off on killing defenseless hookers and an injured cop?"

Stamper giggled, but this time, it was a more self-conscious giggle. "I guess you could say it was due to my upbringing. My own mother was a whore, taking in men at our own house when I was a kid. The things I heard. The things I saw. Just so Mom could support her drug habit. She always said she was doing it for me, but it was all a lie, lying like all hookers do. Hookers and cops... never trust them. My mother was selling her body because she liked doing it and she liked the drugs she could buy with it even more – more than she ever loved me."

Stamper returned the glass bottle to his case. "That's why I left home as soon as I could and signed up for the Navy. It was the best thing I ever did. They taught me discipline, and other skills I'd never learn otherwise. You know, things like honor and respect. Things cops like you would never understand."

"Respect yourself? Damn it, Stamper, you are a murderer who tortures his victims and then sets them on fire! Where's the goddamned honor in that?"

Peter knew he was pushing Stamper farther than he should. He needed to be wooing information out of this murderer, not psychoanalyzing him or demeaning him. That would only get him killed and his death might contribute to the deaths of Kelly and Skalany. No, he couldn't live with that... or more succinctly, he couldn't die with that on his mind.

He was weakening with each passing moment, with each beat of his heart that pumped more of his blood to run down his arm from his pinned hand and throbbed in rhythm with the wound in his side. If his weakness and ensuing shock continued at the pace it was going, he might not even remain conscious long enough to suffer through the flames Stamper had planned for him.

Lo Si's voice echoed in his thoughts, _'As water carves through stone, those who persevere will win.'_

Peter's body trembled with shock and pain, but somehow he took comfort from the odd memories that kept cropping up in his thoughts.

'_Persevere, Peter. Goddamn it, persevere,'_ he told himself,_ 'If you want to have that snowball's chance of surviving hell, you've got to watch your mouth!'_

Stamper surprised Peter by getting caught up in one of his giggle fests, instead of attacking and Peter let him laugh until he was ready to talk again. Stamper was playing with an antenna, obviously trying to search the airwaves for radio transmissions. Peter didn't know if he should let him play, knowing Blake's frequency was almost impossible to detect or do something to distract Stamper which would probably result in another attack.

Peter's head drooped down to his chest. He told himself he just needed a moment or two to get himself back into the right frame of mind. Otherwise, he'd die way too soon. "Kelly, I love you... " he whispered as he thought of her.

The odds were growing that he'd never see her again. It made him regret their argument at the hospital even more. He'd hate for them to part in anger, with that as the lingering legacy of their love. He slumped against the post, staying upright solely by the fact that his hand was pinned to it like a donkey's tail on a child's party game, and he prayed for a miracle – a miracle that would allow Skalany and Kelly to survive this nightmare intact.

He chided himself for his naivete. Praying for miracles was a fool's errand. Then again, only a fool would have walked into his present situation willingly and that was exactly what he'd done. In fact, he had demanded the right to do so.

"It's time to rattle those _'bears' _a bit... " Stamper muttered.

Peter knew Stamper was up to no good. He needed to sit up and start talking nonsense to the madman to keep him occupied, but he found he was fading too fast to reverse course back towards consciousness. He whispered Kelly's name one more time before his world went black, succumbing to his body's need for some down time. He could only hope the down time wouldn't become a permanent thing.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	9. Chapter 9

1

**Chapter Nine**

Blake cleared his throat and glanced to Paul. "Paul, use your binoculars for a closer view of that blaze. Those trees are going up like matchsticks. There's no way any of the backup or additional search teams will be able to get here until those fires are put out."

"God damn it," Paul muttered as he watched the flames through his binoculars.

Kermit spoke, his voice angry. "We've seen fire behave like this before and not too long ago. The fire that destroyed Kelly's Mustang, and almost took Peter and others along with it, acted just like this. Stamper must have his own mix of accelerants he uses in his homemade fire bombs."

Paul answered, hearing the bitter echo of fatigue in his own voice as he said, "That damned fire will also nix our plans to have the EMTs here as soon as Stamper gives up or goes down fighting... "

"What about a helicopter pickup?" Jody asked, her whispery tone contained an air of despair. Watching what Peter was going through with Stamper was hard on all of them.

Blake shook his head. "With these high winds, rain, thunder, and lightning, no helicopter pilot in his right mind would attempt a rescue. Much too dangerous. It would be a suicide run."

Kermit growled, "So, what the hell are we going to do? Even if we find Skalany and Kelly, they will probably need medical attention. With Peter's declining condition, his need for a doctor goes without saying. We better have another backup plan in the works."

"The one and only backup plan just went up in smoke – literally," Paul snapped. "Look, I can't talk to the lake's search-and-rescue people until Stamper's out of the way, or else he'll pick up our transmission on a regular frequency the lake patrol uses. In the meantime, I suggest the rest of you stick to the plan. Check out the area in your grid while keeping an eye open for trip wires and other types of hidden triggers. We are all just foreigners in Stamper's little house of horrors, so stay sharp. Blaisdell out."

Blake fiddled with the detonator wire of one of Stamper's fire bombs he'd found and muttered, "It ain't easy fighting crime these days, my friend."

Paul managed a wan smile as Blake finished disarming the device, and then he used the wire pulled from the device to pick at his teeth like a tooth pick. Paul simply shook his head, causing Blake to smile back at him. "Don't give me that worried look, Paul. I know what I'm doing."

Paul smiled, then he felt the smile fade from his lips. "Let's keep our mind on ending this nightmare ASAP, so we can take everybody home, safe and sound."

Before Paul could say anything more, there was an explosion across the grounds on the opposite side of Stamper and Peter's location. It was right where Kermit was supposed to have taken up position. Paul grabbed his binoculars again and aimed them in that general direction, but he couldn't see anything except Stamper moving into the brush with his gun, then he stopped for some reason, returning to Peter, but Paul's stomach knotted up when he caught the look in Stamper's eyes. If he had to describe in two words, it would be homicidal madness.

Paul turned the binoculars in Peter's direction. Peter was mumbling to himself as if in a nightmare. His eyes were closed. He had no idea Stamper was approaching him looking like he was about to inflict more abuse. Paul tore his gaze away from Peter as he heard Blake trying to reach Kermit. "Kermit, report! Kermit, this is an order! Report!"

Paul caught Blake's concerned expression before turning back to watch Stamper and Peter. Paul's voice was low as he muttered, "This is going south way too fast."

**oOoOoOoOo**

"Don't fade out me now, Caine!" Stamper shouted at Peter.

Peter heard him from a distance and fought to come out of the haze he was in. He shook his head to clear some of the rainwater from his face and glared up at Stamper through half-hooded eyes. "I'm here. Stop yelling in my face," he said, his voice low and menacing.

Stamper grabbed him by the chin and squeezed. "I'll do whatever I damn well please."

He stared into Peter's unflinching gaze for a few moments longer before releasing him, then he started to giggle again. Peter closed his eyes, detesting the sound of it, but at least it kept Stamper off of him for a moment.

"I bet you won't argue with me again," Stamper said, beaming with smug superiority.

Peter's return to consciousness brought with it pain. Now, it was with him again, worse than ever before, especially his hand – the hand stabbed to the post. Still, he had to keep a dialog going with Stamper.

"My – my father says it is better to argue with a wise man than prattle with a fool."

Stamper came to a stop in front of Peter. "Your father must be a pretty smart guy. Too bad you didn't take after him more. I never knew who my father was. Too many men had been with my mother... "

Peter let Stamper ramble, taking the time to clear his thinking. His breath hitched as he remembered hearing one of Stamper's bombs go off very close to them moments before as he fought to stay conscious. Peter glanced to that area again and bit his lip as he wondered if Kermit had been caught in that blast. Surely Stamper hadn't found Kermit and attacked so quickly. And if he had, why wasn't he going out there to check his prey? There was an eerie, haphazard method to the way Stamper's insanity worked.

Peter took a deep breath and tried to figure out a way to make sure Kermit was okay. As much as he hated to consider it, his hand and the knife had to come off the post and there was only one way he knew to do that. Glancing at Stamper, the demented bartender and slayer of prostitutes, Peter saw the man was fiddling with his case again.

Sighing with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension, Peter figured he wouldn't get a better chance to act. He closed his eyes for a moment, summoning all his inner strength, then he opened them to peek at Stamper. Seeing that his captor was still occupied, Peter took a deep breath, preparing himself for the pain ahead. When he acted, it would have be at the best possible moment, or else he might move right into death's waiting arms.

Peter stared in Kermit's general direction and imagined the ex-merc standing just beyond his line of sight._ 'Damn it, Kermit, you better be alive. We'll find Kelly and Mary Margaret. Stamper's going down. You're going to be there to celebrate with rest of us at the end. End of subject.'_

**oOoOoOoOo**

Paul could hear Stamper rambling about Kelly and his arrest via the radio when he came to a stop beside Blake, kneeling down as they took a moment to rest.

"I don't bear any grudges against Kelly for what happened to me," Stamper said, "She was just doing her job. I told her I could never hold it against her. I loved her too much for that. She's the one woman I've searched my whole life for. Even when they were carting me off to jail, I told her that we'd be together one day. And now we will be. I just need to get you out of the way, then me and Kelly can start our new lives together. She'll come around. I know it. She loves me too much not to."

"Pure madness," Paul muttered, glancing over to Blake.

They were in a place where Paul could use his starlight binoculars again to check on Peter. "Peter's not moving," he whispered. "Damn it, Peter's gone through hell and we still haven't found Kelly and Mary Margaret."

Blake looked just as frustrated as Paul felt. Paul said, "We're just spinning our wheels here."

Paul depressed the button on his radio and spoke to Chin. "How are you doing, Roger?" he asked softly.

"I've got to take a long route leading back around the car before I can move over to Kermit's general position. Hell, there's so many trip wires along the way it boggles the mind... but I should be able to get to him in the next five to ten minutes."

Paul closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Make it five, but watch for those damned trip wires. I don't want you getting blown to kingdom come, too. Report in when you've found Kermit."

"Yes, sir."

"Jody, are you listening in? It's time to check in. Tell me what you've found."

"Nothing. We've done a preliminary search through the house and there's nothing out of the ordinary. Captain, we've got to do something. We can't keep wandering around while Peter is – "

Paul's response cut Jody short. "Stick to the plan, Powell. Peter certainly is."

He took a deep breath and rubbed at his forehead. Blake's voice was low as he said, "Maybe it's time to reevaluate, Captain."

Paul chewed on his lower lip. "Blake, do you think you could jam the signal from that damned vest of his?"

Blake paused, considering Paul's question, then he shook his head. "Not with the equipment I have with me."

A sudden howling wind blasted through the area as if it were late for a meeting in hell. It was followed by a heavy deluge of rain. The weather was worsening by the minute and Paul knew from living at the lake for so long, if the storm intensified, trying to cross the lake in a boat would be out of the question.

Jody acted like she was oblivious to the storm bearing down on them, though she raised her voice to speak over the wind. "Captain, we have no assurance that Stamper will talk, even if we do capture him without setting off his toys. You've seen how he is. The man's beyond unstable. Now, Kermit is down and Chin is risking his life just by trying to get to him. I say let's take Stamper down, and then get as many people as possible up here to search for Kelly and Skalany."

Paul glanced in Kermit's direction again with his binoculars, but there was no movement.

"Captain?" Jody asked.

Their plan had fallen apart. Now, Peter and probably Kermit were injured, with others risking their lives to save the injured and the missing. He knew what his heart wanted to do, but he couldn't limit his thinking to just Peter and Kermit.

Chin's voice interrupted his thoughts, his voice soft as he traversed the roundabout route to Kermit. "Jody's right. We went through the cabin. There's nothing inside that gives any clue as to where they are. There was a lot of fresh wood cut outside the storm cellar entrance. He might have built something in order to bury Kelly and Skalany... you know, maybe he wasn't lying about hiding them here."

Jody's voice was tense as she said, "I don't think Stamper would keep the love of his life very far away from him."

Chin continued, "We also came across a case full of unused trip wires and triggers. I don't know how Stamper got access to all of this shit, but he's good. Really good."

"He's not good, he's crazy," Paul corrected Chin. "That's even worse."

"Yeah, well, there's that, too," Chin said with a sigh, sounding as close to the edge as Jody did. Maybe it was time to switch tactics.

Paul started thinking aloud, throwing out ideas. "From what Stamper's said and what you've found, Chin, I would have to agree he's got them buried, but I can't think of an area of ground that would be easily dug up and covered again. We've searched every possible location and there's no sign of dirt being moved."

"Digging in this soil wouldn't be easy, Paul. Not even with the recent rains," Blake agreed. He scratched at the collar of his shirt. "Maybe there's nothing around here to find. He might have stashed them somewhere else and is just saying they are hidden here."

There was a momentary silence before Paul spoke, "No, I don't think so. For some reason, being a man of his word is very important to Stamper. I think they are here... somewhere."

Jody said, "If we take out Stamper now, there's the added advantage of getting Peter out of harm's way. Let's not forget, there's a countdown running on him, too. Stamper is escalating in the intensity of his attacks. Peter won't last long at this rate."

Paul swung the binoculars in Peter's direction again, but the young man still wasn't moving. Stamper was fiddling with something in his case as he continued to ramble about Kelly. Jody was right. They had to stop Stamper before he did anything else to Peter.

"Chin, let me know the moment you find Kermit," Paul said. He wiped at the rain on his face as he sighed. They were two people down and still no closer to finding the missing women than when they first arrived.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	10. Chapter 10

1

**Chapter Ten**

Peter took a final look at Stamper, satisfied the man was still preoccupied, then closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He flinched when there was a flash of lightning was followed by a bone-rattling round of thunder. Taking advantage of nature's cover, he reached up with his good hand and pulled the knife away from the post, grinding his teeth to keep from crying out. The injured hand dropped limply to his lap and throbbed with a fierceness Peter was getting far too used to in recent days.

Taking in big gulps of air, he tried to get past the pain. He held the bloody knife as he wiped the back of his good hand across his wet face and blinked a few times. He forced himself to his feet, using the post for support, then took a step forward, cautiously gauging his strength while watching Stamper. He knew he had to reach Stamper before the man turned toward him again.

Stamper stood in front of his case, staring out into the forest as if he was trying to determine the exact position of something he was seeing on one of his screens.

'_Kermit!'_ Peter thought, '_Stamper's trying to figure if it's something more than a bear out there. Ah, geez.'_

Peter walked in a crouch, his bleeding hand hanging down limply while the other held his knife. His approach had to be silent until he was upon Stamper, because surprise would be his only advantage. He knew he had enough reserves to exchange a few punches with the former Navy Seal, but not enough for an extended hand-to-hand fight.

Peter moved along, walking as softly as he could. The action triggered a memory of trying to walk on rice paper as a child at the temple. Other memories came with that one and soon he was lost in the past.

**Flashback**

_"I'm scared," young Peter told his father._

_"Fear is your companion. Your friend. Your ally," was his father's response as Peter watched another student fighting with Master Khan._

_"Then why do my hands tremble?"_

_"Your body will respond to your thoughts. Be aware of your enemy. Who he is. Where he is. When you become one with him, your hands will cease to tremble. When you vanquish him, you will no longer be afraid."_

**End of Flashback**

_'Be one with Stamper, Pop? Not sure if my sanity can handle something like that. Still, not having my hands trembling, hell, my whole body trembling for that matter, would feel pretty damned good.'_

Peter didn't bother to chide himself for talking to memories. He was closing on Stamper and that was all that mattered.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Just as Paul was about to lower the binoculars, Peter moved. Paul bit into his lip as he watched his son pull the knife and his hand away from the post, and then after a moment, Peter stood.

Jody's voice came alive on the radio. "Peter's on the move. I repeat, Peter is on the move and it looks like he's about to attack Stamper."

"Damn it," Paul muttered, the decision to act now unavoidable. "Everyone, move in on my command."

Just then, there were multiple lightning strikes, illuminating the entire area with white light.

"Goddamn it," Paul said more emphatically, worrying that the sudden light would cause Stamper to turn and see Peter out in the open, vulnerable and near collapse.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter was almost upon Stamper when the multiple lightning strikes lit up the night sky. He froze in place, not moving in hopes Stamper would not glance his way, but Stamper appeared to be involved in something else altogether, then Peter saw what it was when another lightning strike brightened the night. In that instant, he saw Chin trying to help Kermit to his feet.

"Ah, shit,"Peter muttered under his breath, knowing in his heart that Stamper would act within the next second.

Peter crossed the remaining distance between him and Stamper, his thoughts solely on Kermit and Chin. He was about to plunge his knife into Stamper's back when the man turned toward him, deflecting the knife enough to cause it to graze across his left shoulder and arm. The knife's path cut through Stampers's vest, ripping it away as Stamper fell back. The knife wound did some damage, but unfortunately not enough to put the man down.

Stamper bellowed with rage, then tried to take the knife from Peter, but only managed to knock it from Peter's grasp. Peter pressed on with his attack. Using moves he'd learned as a child, and then relearned with his father's return in his life, Peter fought Stamper without conscious thought, going from one blow to the next as if he was doing a complicated Tai Chi form. His technique was flawless, despite one bloody arm that hung limply at his side.

Peter had claimed the element of surprise and prevailed with his unexpected attack. He breathed a sigh of relief when Stamper wound up on the ground, shaking his head to clear it as he tried to get to his knees. Peter kept on like a man possessed, although his sudden surge of stamina had him somewhat baffled.

Hit after hit, blow after blow ensued. He used his feet, elbows, knees and one good hand to the best of his abilities, but he was already weakened, so his blows didn't carry much force. Plus, the edges of Peter's vision was beginning to shimmer. Time was running out. Not only for him, but for Kelly and Skalany.

But Peter had little time to devote to worry. He had to keep going because he had no other choice. There were lives on the line, lives relying upon him for rescue, but Peter wasn't foolish enough to think he could beat Stamper. Hell, forget about beating Stamper, he just wanted to stop the man before anyone else was hurt, so he redoubled his efforts.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Paul watched in muted horror as he saw Peter begin his attack on Stamper. "Move, people! Move in now! Take Stamper out of commission by any means possible!"

He dropped the binoculars and raised his handgun to see if he could get a shot without endangering Peter, but Peter was too close to Stamper, laying down one punch after another, and Paul couldn't take the chance that he might hit him instead of Stamper.

He lowered the gun, and saw Blake was already moving, heading toward the front of the cabin. Paul grunted as he got to his feet. Healing wounds from the Shadow Assassins attack kept protesting his continued exertion, but they didn't slow him down. Paul was stubborn enough not to let that happen.

Within a few steps, he caught up to Blake. He saw Jody moving in, too. All three of them approached with weapons drawn just as Peter slipped on some mud and went down hard. Paul wasn't sure if Peter would be able to stand again, because his movements were so stilted. The momentary lapse was all Stamper needed to take control of the situation.

He grabbed Peter by the throat and pulled him close as he got to his feet, picking up the knife Peter had just dropped. Stamper saw the detectives surrounding him and giggled.

"It's over, Stamper. Release my detective and step away from him," Paul ordered in his strongest voice possible.

Stamper's giggle increased with the command. His face had several spots that were bleeding from Peter's attack and he wiped at the blood dripping into one eye while keeping a tight hold on Peter's semiconscious body.

"I don't think so, cop," Stamper replied. "This po-lice-man is my ticket out of here."

"It's not going to happen that way, Stamper. This ends here and now."

Stamper's nervous giggle was nearly out of control as Kermit and Chin stepped out of the brush. Kermit leaned heavily on Chin for support, but he still had his weapon out and aimed it at Stamper, as did Chin. Stamper stared down the five detectives still moving closer to him, one step at a time.

"No, you're gonna let me leave with Caine or I'll slit his throat before you can get off a single shot."

Peter shook his head as if to clear it, then slumped again, drifting in and out of consciousness. Paul tried to block out his concern for Peter and focused only on Stamper. After a moment, he shook his head. "Don't be stupid. All five of us are very good shots. Don't make us fire on you. Give up and live to see another day."

Stamper's giggling stopped for a moment as he countered Paul's threat with one of his own. "You may be good shots, but even if you take me down, you've still got two detectives missing. Without me, you'll never find them in time."

Paul's firm expression didn't waver as he replied, "We'll find them – with or without your help. What you should be thinking about is how to keep the number of criminal charges against you from increasing. What you do in the next few minutes will determine whether you live or die."

Stamper's chin came up defiantly. "Are you talking about a death sentence or one of you taking me out?"

"Does it matter?" Paul asked, "Death is still death."

"You won't kill me," Stamper whispered, glaring at Paul as he adjusted his hold on Peter's limp form. Peter seemed to be losing his battle with consciousness. Stamper was a strong man, but holding Peter's dead weight caused his grip to slip and Peter slid down to his knees.

Paul stared Stamper in the eye as he said, "Well, that depends on what you do. But I should warn you, I was a soldier like yourself before I went into law enforcement. Special Forces and beyond. I've killed many men. One more won't matter to me – especially one who has endangered people under my command."

"All cops are so full of bullshit. You're no different than any other," Stamper responded, but there was a hint of fear in his eyes now.

"Try me," Paul said without emotion.

Stamper broke the eye contact with Paul, glancing around, looking at the other four detectives and their weapons, as if madly searching the area for escape options.

"Stamper, I'm giving you one last chance," Paul said, coming to a stop with Stamper's forehead centered in his sights.

Peter groaned suddenly, choosing that particular moment to return to consciousness. The timing couldn't have been worse. His uncoordinated movements gave Stamper the distraction he needed and he pulled Peter back to his feet, dragging him along.

Peter's gaze darted around in confusion. Paul caught his eye and slightly gestured with one hand for Peter to stay put.

"I swear I'll slit his throat if you all don't lower your weapons and move away," Stamper threatened as he continued to retreat.

"No, you won't," Paul said firmly.

"Try me," Stamper said as his giggling returned.

"Take him down, Paul," Peter called out to Paul, gasping for air as he struggled against Stamper's hold. "This piece of shit can't be allowed to kill again!"

Stamper slid the knife along Peter's throat with enough pressure to draw blood without actually cutting into the tissue beneath it. Peter's face contorted as he fought to remain silent.

"You've got three seconds to release him or I'll fire," Paul said without moving.

He paused another moment for effect, then said, "One."

Stamper kept backing away, dragging Peter with him. His rough movements elicited a low groan from Peter.

"Two," Paul said firmly.

Stamper's expression became desperate as he looked for escape options. Paul watched as Peter took a deep breath, seeming to collapse, then came up fast, surprising Stamper with a swinging elbow into Stamper's throat.

Stamper clutched at his throat as he coughed and sputtered, wobbling madly to maintain his balance. He made a half-hearted attempt to go after Peter, but Peter managed to crawl far enough away to be out of his reach, using his hands and feet as he stumbled, but he kept going until he reached Jody.

Peter looked back, then straightened and put out a hand as he said two words, "Trip wire."

A glint of fear came into Stamper's eyes as he looked at Peter, as if trying to decipher Peter's message. Stamper seemed unable to stop the momentum of his awkward movements. Before any of the detectives could do anything, Stamper's foot hit the trip wire Peter had seen. Panic flashed over Stamper's expression a half second before he was engulfed in a terrifying burst of flames.

The ex-Navy Seal batted at the fire with his hands, waving his arms wildly in the air before he dropped and rolled in the damp undergrowth. Chin and Blake rushed up with their jackets and slapped at the flames, trying to smother them with the garments, but they couldn't get close enough to do anything.

By the time Paul reached Stamper's side, the man was enveloped in fire with such intensity that Paul had to put a hand up to protect his eyes. All he could hear was Stamper's last words, screaming into the night. "Momma? I'm burning! Just like you! I'm sorry... "

The apology blended into horrific screams without words. None of them could get close to the man as he burned, but then his screams died with the thunderous roar of Kermit's Desert Eagle. He glanced at Kermit whose weapon was still aimed at Stamper, then at Stamper. There was no question the man was dead.

Peter got to his feet with Jody's help, his hand pressed against his bloody side. The two limped over to the still burning corpse. He looked at Paul in wide-eyed confusion before his eyes rolled up into his head and he dropped to his knees, dragging Jody down with him. She managed to slow his descent, so he didn't hit the ground hard – not that he noticed.

A moment later, Peter's gaze darted around the area. He flailed his arms and murmured, "Kelly! God, how are we supposed to find Kelly and Skalany now?"

He tried to get up one more time, but passed out instead. A moment later, Kermit groaned and dropped to his knees, though he managed to stay upright. Chin helped him stand again, but Kermit swayed as he directed his attention on Peter.

"How's he doing," Kermit asked breathlessly, holding on tightly to his right shoulder.

Paul noted how Kermit still allowed Chin to keep an arm around him for support and that said a lot about Kermit's current condition.

Blake covered Stamper's body with a tarp that had been lain over the nearby wood supply. The stench of burned flesh was almost overpowering as Paul knelt beside Peter. Paul felt for a pulse on Peter's throat and sighed in relief. Looking up at the others, he said, "He's alive, but that's about it. He needs medical attention ASAP."

He turned toward Kermit and added, "So do you."

"I'm fine," Kermit barked.

"Oh yeah. Sure you are," Paul said sarcastically, turning to the others. "Blake, call in the troops. Have them try Atkins Road. Warn them it's barely a road, especially with the rain we've had, but it might get them past the destruction Stamper did with his explosives. Worse case scenario, have them check into the use of the county's heavy duty equipment, backhoes and such to forge a path through the fire. They are stored nearby at a depot near Masonry. And get some EMTs over here on the double."

Jody was at Peter's side, brushing his hair away from his face. Finally, she looked at Paul, concern tightening her delicate features. "Captain, what _'are'_ we going to do about Kelly and Skalany?"

Paul wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and rocked back on his heels. "That's the 64,000 question."

"We find them," Kermit spoke up, determination marking his every move, "That's what we do. We find them and put an end to this madness."

Paul looked up at him, almost believing that Kermit could do just as he said, then he blinked a few times as reality clarified his thoughts and he glanced back down at Peter's still form and sighed.

"Let's get Peter inside and tend to him as much as we can until the professionals arrive."

"Paul?" Kermit hobbled closer to him.

Paul turned back to his old friend. "Yes, Kermit, we will search for them, but it would be wise not to nurture false hope. Without specific information from Stamper, the search will be like looking for a needle in a haystack."

Kermit smirked. "My specialty."

Paul ignored Kermit's quip and began to lift Peter up to carry him inside as rain began to come down in great sheets of water. Chin stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "You help Kermit. Jody, Blake and I will get Peter inside."

Paul begrudgingly stepped aside, taking up Chin's position supporting Kermit. Soon, they had Peter lying on the sofa in the cabin's living room. Lights had been turned on and first aid applied while calls were made. Paul wandered to the front door and stopped, looking out at the stormy night eerily lit by the forest fire behind them and wondered how the hell they would find Kelly and Skalany.

He felt a presence beside him, knowing it was Kermit without turning around.

"We'll find them, Paul," Kermit said quietly.

Paul didn't answer for a while. When he did, it was without turning around. "I hope to hell you're right, Kermit, because I don't think Peter will survive the news of their deaths."

"We'll find them," Kermit repeated.

Paul kept staring outside and didn't answer this time, battling the rampant doubt in his heart. He remembered what he had told Peter in the hospital. _'I don't lose people on my operations.' _

Now, the memory stabbed like a knife in the heart as he reminded himself there was a first time for everything.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	11. Chapter 11

1

**Chapter Eleven**

Paul paced while Blake and Jody took turns keeping pressure on Peter's side to slow the bleeding. They had successfully stopped the bleeding on the knife wound in his hand, but the wound in Peter's side was more bothersome. Paul ran a hand through his hair. If Peter was losing that much blood externally, how much bleeding was going on internally?

The best they could manage was to keep Peter dry and warm and elevate his feet to stave off any further shock. Peter was paler than Paul ever remembered seeing before. Or maybe it was just accentuated by the bruises forming on his face. Paul felt helpless as he watched Jody and Blake work, and then he glanced at Chin, who had come to stand beside him and saw himself reflected in Chin's tense stance.

Roger sighed, and then his eyes lit up as a thought came to him. "How about I go make a pot of coffee? I know all of us are freezing from being out in that storm."

Paul nodded absently. He knew Chin was right, but his focus was on Peter. After a moment, he started to head toward the kitchen to show Chin where everything was, but Chin stopped him. "No, stay here, sir. I can find what I need by myself. You should be here with Peter and this will give me something to do."

Paul peered into the young man's sympathetic gaze and said, "Thanks, Roger."

Chin bowed slightly, as if Paul was a revered grandfather and not his boss, then took off for the kitchen.

Paul glanced around for Kermit and found him standing right behind him. Kermit had a blanket around his shoulders and a towel around his neck. In the brightly lit cabin, Kermit looked far worse cleaned up than he had when he was covered in dirt and leaves. Cuts and bruises stood out against his pale skin.

A few minutes passed with neither man speaking when Paul turned back to glance at Peter, then he wished he hadn't. Peter looked so fragile as he lay unmoving. Unmoving, despite Blake and Jody's activities – which revealed how deeply unconscious Peter really was.

Paul began to pace again. It had already been twenty minutes since the confrontation with Stamper had ended. He'd made the necessary telephone calls and help was on the way. Unfortunately, that knowledge did nothing to ease Paul's concern.

_Damn, Stamper anyway! _

Blowing up the roads leading to the cabin hadn't been something Paul or the others had even considered. If help couldn't get in via Atkins Road, then the emergency response crews would have to drive to a point where they could board boats and be ferried over. Paul was tempted to just grab Peter and take him and Kermit across the lake in his boat, but with Peter in his current condition, the trip in this heavy storm might well do him in.

Paul walked to the front door again as he thought of Kelly and Skalany, looking out into the bleakness of the night as he ran possible locations through his mind, places they might not have checked yet. The storm just kept getting worse, as if things weren't bad enough already. He heard a noise behind him and turned to see Kermit throwing off his blanket. Grinding his teeth together, he put on his jacket, then pulled a flashlight out of his jacket pocket.

Paul faced him with disbelief as Kermit approached the door. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" Paul asked, anger flowing into his voice.

"Where else? To look for Kelly and Mary Margaret," Kermit retorted.

Just then, Chin walked into the living room with a tray of steaming coffee mugs. He saw Kermit at the door ready to go outside, then caught Paul's gaze. He set the tray on a nearby coffee table. "Uh, hold up, Kermit, I'll go with you."

"Kermit's not going anywhere, Roger," Paul snapped before turning his gaze back to the ex-merc. "At a minimum, he's got some busted ribs, maybe a separated shoulder or broken collarbone... who knows what else. He's not leaving this house."

Kermit's gaze narrowed and a confrontation ensued – one Paul knew was coming and there was no way to avoid it. Kermit clenched his flashlight and said, "Like hell, I'm not!"

Paul didn't budge from the door and the stare-down continued. His voice was low, but firm. "Kermit, I've got one man badly injured. I won't have you aggravating whatever you're trying to hide in the way of injuries by going out in that storm."

Kermit hefted the flashlight in his hand for a moment before turning to Chin. "You ready to go?" he asked as he headed for the back door.

Chin looked at Kermit and then to Paul. He was between Kermit and the way to the back door via the kitchen. Roger could try and stop Kermit if Paul told him to. The young Asian looked uncomfortable with the possibility.

"Come on, Chin, let's go," Kermit said, disregarding Paul.

Chin stared at Paul with indecision. Finally, Paul gestured with his head for Roger to go with Kermit. They certainly didn't need another brawl, especially inside the house with Peter's condition as grave as it was. And that was exactly what it would have come to, if he had told Chin to block Kermit's way. Paul knew from past experience Griffin was nearly unstoppable when he got that particular glint in his eyes, worse when he was injured, reminding Paul of a cornered wildcat.

Roger sighed with relief and grabbed a couple cups of coffee before heading off with Kermit. He handed one to Kermit as they entered the kitchen. Before they were out the back door, Paul heard Kermit exclaim, "Damn, Chin, your coffee is worse than Blake's and I didn't think that was possible!"

The comment made Paul smile until he locked eyes with Blake. The electronics specialist was quite sensitive to comments about his coffee. Paul dropped the smile and Blake went back to tending to Peter. Paul rubbed his forehead, trying to ignore the headache he'd developed. Through one of the side windows, he saw the beams of flashlights bouncing around outside and he turned back to the front door.

Sighing deeply, he said, "I'm going out with Chin and Kermit. Yell if you need me."

Jody and Blake nodded, looking outside with expressions that indicated they wished they could go, too. Time was running out for their two missing detectives and everyone knew it.

Blake paused, wiping his hands on a towel. "Just remember Stamper's explosives are still out there. I'm sure we didn't find all of the booby-traps. Be careful."

"Understood," Paul said as he stepped out onto the porch. He buttoned his jacket closed and then headed down the stairs.

He caught up with Kermit and Chin as they shone their beams along the base of the cabin, searching the ground closely as they moved along. Kermit glanced his way and shook his head. "Doesn't look like any dirt around the house has been moved in a while."

Paul nodded. "You're right. At least, I haven't done any digging in a long time."

Kermit paused, and turned in a slow arc, casting his beam out as far as it would go. It came across Stamper's covered body before swinging back to the house again.

"He might have been lying, Kermit," Paul said quietly. "And our detectives could be hidden miles from here. There's no telling what that madman did with them. I hate to say it, but they might already be dead."

Kermit spun on Paul. "Look, you can think and talk like that if you want to, but I'm going to keep going on the premise Stamper wasn't lying. If that's the case, then they are here somewhere nearby. We just need to find them."

Paul softened his expression with compassion. "Kermit," he started, reaching out to put a hand on Kermit's shoulder. For some reason, he felt compelled to bring Kermit back to reality, but Kermit simply stepped out of his reach, and headed down toward the dock.

"I'm not stopping, Paul. Not until we will find them," Kermit said without looking back.

Chin stayed close to Kermit, catching Paul's gaze and nodded once before turning back to Kermit. Roger made it clear he was there to watch over Kermit, something for which Paul was grateful. Paul chewed on his lip for a moment, then sighed. There was no denying the sense of dread he felt building deep inside of him if they found the two women dead.

He shook his head, ignoring the possibility. Kermit was right. They had to work on the premise Kelly and Skalany were still alive.

By the time he reached Kermit and Chin, Kermit was starting to climb down to the water's edge beside the dock. Paul couldn't believe what he was seeing. Kermit knew as well as he did that the depth of the lake deepened significantly within a few steps of the shoreline.

"Kermit, let Chin do that," he ordered in a voice that brokered no insubordination, not even from Kermit.

Kermit stopped and sighed. Looking up at Chin who was standing above him on the declining slope, he said, "Get down here, kid. You heard the man. I want you to see if there's anything stashed under that dock."

Paul caught Kermit's eye and shot him a look of relief. Ignoring Paul, Kermit turned back to Chin who had kicked off his shoes and tossed aside his jacket. Before Chin went into the water, Kermit stopped him. "Remember, there could still be booby-traps, even in the water."

Chin nodded solemnly. The young man was already beginning to shiver. He took several deep breaths and stepped into the water, disappearing into its murky depths. Dim beams from Chin's flashlight showed his progress as he swam under the dock.

Paul stepped over the discarded mugs of coffee and moved closer to where Kermit was waiting and eyed the ex-merc more closely. "Stamper had said they'd run out of air... so you're thinking he might have used my boat to put them somewhere underwater?"

Kermit shrugged, and then flinched at the movement.

"Not bad," Paul said appreciatively as he put a hand on Kermit's uninjured shoulder. "Not bad at all, but you should be inside, not out in the cold rain like this."

"I'll manage," Kermit snapped back, his voice low with pain and worry.

He began walking away from Paul, but stopped, pausing in silence before he turned back to Paul. "I don't know how or why, but I can't shake the feeling they are close by... call it a gut feeling. Maybe it comes from learning how to get inside a criminal's head. Or from watching Stamper rant and rave while always harping on honesty. They're here, Paul. I just know it."

Paul took a step closer to Kermit. "You may be right. I hope to hell you are."

Glancing around, Paul took a deep breath. "But there's one thing I need to tell you, no matter what happens."

He stood, staring deeply into Kermit's shaded eyes. "I want to thank you for pushing on, for still believing when I had lost faith. Peter would be out here right now if he was conscious and he wouldn't have given up for anything. I should have remembered that. Those women very well could be down there. Close, but out of sight."

Kermit turned back to the water, watching for Chin's appearance. He spoke, still facing the water, instead of Paul. "Forget about it. I've dipped into your well of faith before, Paul. That's what friends do for another one, carry them along until they can believe on their own. All of us can get lost in the shadows of life. Fortunately for us, all it takes is the flame of one friend to light our way back."

He turned back to Paul. "We'll find them. We promised the kid we'd find them and we will. We will," Kermit took a step closer to the water's edge with a frown. "Speaking of shadows, Chin should be back up by now. What the hell is taking him so long?"

Paul took a step towards the water's edge, also growing concerned, but then Chin's head popped up out of the water. He coughed and sputtered, but still tried to talk around it, animated despite his inability to talk.

"I found... some scuba equipment... right under the dock." Chin brought the gear up out of the water and into view.

Paul took the gear from Chin, then reached out a hand to pull the man up. When Paul latched onto Roger's wet, icy hand, Paul felt like he was grabbing hold of a corpse. The older man pulled up the young detective, using more force than should have been necessary, and Paul assumed the frigid water temperature had sapped Chin's strength and he was in serious jeopardy of going into hypothermia.

Paul put an arm around Roger's shoulder to steady him as Kermit yelled toward the house. "We need some blankets down here on the double!"

Kermit turned back to help Paul with Chin. Paul picked up the scuba gear as Chin shivered uncontrollably. Kermit threw Chin's jacket around the young man's shoulders as Roger continued to cough and talk, "I tried looking around... searching beyond where the gear was... to see if Kelly and Skalany were there too... but I had to come up for air before I could look much further."

Paul patted Chin on the shoulder. "Good work, Chin, good work. Now, we have a direction. I'm going to see where the lake patrol is, so we can call in qualified divers. Those paramedics should have already arrived by now. Wait, it looks like there are headlights coming down Atkins Road. Rough going in this weather, but these lake search-and-rescue people are tough."

A slight smile wisped across Paul's lips. "We can use my boat and the fish detector to check for what's in the water around the dock. Stamper must have left some type of buoy to mark the location where he dumped them. Damn, the man was a Navy Seal. I should have thought of this myself."

Jody ran down to meet them with her arms full of blankets. She stopped short when she saw the scuba gear. Her gaze jumped from the gear to her coworkers. "What did you find?" she asked as she handed Paul a blanket.

"It looks like Stamper might have used the boat to dump them into the water somewhere. The scuba gear explains how he made his surprise entrance and caught them unawares," Paul said, wrapping the blanket around Chin. "We just might still be able to find them in time."

"We will find them in time," Kermit said, correcting Paul.

Paul smiled and shook his head. "We will find them in time," he repeated.

"Oh my God," Jody replied, holding a hand to her face. "That's the best news I've heard in days!" She reached out and took hold of Chin's arm, helping to guide him back to the house.

Kermit carefully bent to retrieve Chin's shoes as Paul stood beside him. He nearly toppled over before Paul could catch him. Kermit blinked and took several rapid gulps of air. The light of flashlight beams revealed Kermit's sudden paleness.

"You're going up to the house, too," Paul said, taking Kermit's arm as he led him toward the cabin.

"I just got – " Kermit started.

"Stow it," Paul said firmly.

As they entered the cabin, Paul placed the gear on a table and reached for his cell phone. Blake looked up from Peter's side. He took one look at Chin, dripping wet, and then to the others, finally stopped to study the scuba gear as a smile came to his lips. "You found something."

Kermit smiled in return as he slid into a chair beside Paul and the gear. "Oh yeah," was his hoarsely whispered response.

Blake's smile grew broader. "It's about time we caught a break."

While Paul was on the phone with the lake patrol, he heard Kermit say quietly, "We might have gotten a lucky break, but we are still a long way from finding them."

Paul cast a concerned look in Kermit's direction, wondering how their opinions seemed to have reversed so suddenly. Then again, Kermit was right. There was still the great expanse of the lake waters to be searched. Somehow, the bleakness Paul had felt earlier appeared to have descended upon Kermit and Paul worried that it was a sign of Kermit's declining physical condition.

Jody handed Kermit another cup of coffee. Paul could hear the shower going, so he knew Chin would be warmed up and dry very soon. Kermit, on the other hand, was shaking so badly he had to use both hands to hold his cup.

Trying to act nonchalant, Kermit set down his cup, but Jody must have noticed the tremor, too, because she knelt in front of him, giving him a visual going over, something the average soul would consider an act of great bravery... or stupidity.

Paul ended with one telephone call, and then dialed another number to check the locations of the search teams. He was put on hold and he began to pace again as he looked out the nearby window. The light from the fires cast an eerily bright scene outside. Jody had risen by the time Paul turned around. She tossed him a worried glance before walking back over to Blake and Peter. Paul nodded and stayed by Kermit, just in case he toppled over, silently making plans how to search the lake area.

Kermit's words spoken minutes before echoed in Paul's thoughts. They still had a long, long way to go. The dispatcher came back on the line. "Ten minutes?" Paul repeated, because of the poor connection.

"Yes, the additional teams who are using a bulldozer indicate an ETA of ten minutes maximum. That estimate can vary depending on the degree of heavy back brush and fire they encounter along the way, sir," the dispatcher said.

"Thank you very much," Paul said, hanging up.

Kermit picked up his coffee and took a quick sip before setting it down again. "Ten minutes. Good, we've got work to do."

Paul didn't say anything, thinking Kermit wasn't going anywhere except with the paramedics, but he'd let the paramedics be the bad guy this time.

**oOoOoOoOo**

There was a lot of commotion once the emergency response teams arrived, followed by divers and more boats. Paul didn't waste any time mapping out grids and putting them to work.

The paramedics were a blur of activity, checking on Kermit after they did triage on Peter. The divers began searching the area around and under the dock with special equipment. Paul's hope began to wither as the divers came back after going out as far as they could without boats.

The officer-in-charge of the lake patrol and an old friend, George Temple, turned to him. He was a tall, heavy-set fellow with salt-and-pepper gray hair who had spent most of his life on the water in one way or another. He looked at Paul and said, "Okay, we expand the search using the specialized sonar equipment we have onboard. Let's load up everyone that's going and take off."

The detectives divided themselves amidst the four lake patrol boats and Kermit followed them down to the dock. It wasn't going to be easy sailing, the storm had turned into a real tempest with the waves rocking the water vehicles like tiny toy sail boats in a bathtub with a hyperactive kid.

Now, Paul braced himself for another kind of storm – an argument with Kermit when he was told he was going to be left behind, but he was surprised when Kermit said, "I'll stay here and wait with Peter. The paramedics want his vitals to stabilize before they even think about moving him. Somebody should be here if he wakes up."

Paul smiled sadly and squeezed Kermit's forearm. He had to speak up to be heard over the storm. "You're right. He'll need someone here and you're the best person I can think of to keep Peter calm."

Paul climbed over the lake patrol boat's railing and looked back at Kermit. He nodded once and the boat began to pull away from the shore.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	12. Chapter 12

1

**Chapter Twelve**

Kermit sat at his self-appointed post, positioned in a chair near the end of the sofa by Peter's head. The kid still hadn't woke up, still hadn't even moved, except for the slight rise and fall of his chest, despite the fact that the paramedics had been working on him without ceasing.

Kermit rubbed his forehead with the back of one hand. He couldn't believe he'd passed out right after Paul's boat pulled away from the dock. Upon regaining consciousness, Kermit had refused to leave Peter's side, mumbling threatening words at the paramedic tending to him. How the hell could they expect him to just lie around when Peter looked so bad?

The woman treating Kermit paused as she looked up from taking his pulse. She wasn't happy. Kermit couldn't begin to count the ways why he didn't care. Still, she had enough nerve to lock eyes with him. "You could have serious internal injuries, you know – life threatening injuries."

Kermit merely growled in her direction and she went back to helping her partner with Peter. Finally. Which was exactly what Kermit had wanted in the first place. The kid needed all of the medical help he could get and he needed it fast.

"Damn it!" the male paramedic exclaimed in frustration.

"What? What is it?" Kermit asked, straightening in his seat, knowing whatever it was, it had to be bad.

The man looked over at him and sighed as he pulled off his gloves. "Your friend should be in a hospital. He needs a blood transfusion... at least one unit, maybe as much as three."

"Or else?"

The paramedic rocked back on his heels. "He might not live long enough to make it to the hospital. The IV fluids aren't keeping up with the blood loss."

Kermit sat up a little straighter. Peter had been dancing with death ever since he'd first gone off the highway and rolled down that hillside. Now, with the paramedic's terse words, the reality of death became all too real.

"Isn't there something we can do here?" he asked quietly.

"If we had a known blood match, we could rig up a transfusion... "

Kermit smiled and looked at the paramedics. "Miracles do happen. I'm the answer to your problem. I'm the same blood type as Peter, so get working to set up the transfusion and do it fast!"

The two paramedics exchanged worried glances. "It's not that easy. The blood should be typed and cross-matched... "

Kermit grabbed his wallet and pulled out his blood donor card. He held it up for them to see. "Check Peter's wallet. I'm the same blood type and I've donated blood for him before."

He reached down to the heap of clothes that Peter once wore and dug out his wallet. "See, we are the same blood type! Now, get to work."

The man shook his head. "Shit, Mary, we can't use him. He's already got numerous injuries, with a good possibility of internal bleeding of his own. The unit we take from him might put him at death's door."

Kermit nearly growled with frustration and came very close to the man as he issued a quiet, but determined order. "I give my permission for the transfusion. I'll sign whatever shit you want me to sign, but I am giving my blood to the kid. He is going to make it, no matter what. You have no idea what he's been through. He's got to make it. Got that?"

The man swallowed hard and took a small step backward to put some distance between them. He glanced to Mary and shrugged. Mary nodded in agreement. "I'll get the paperwork together, Joe, you set him up for the transfusion."

As Mary got up, Kermit cursed softly, not realizing he was rocking in his chair from pain and frustration. As far as he could see, these people were wasting valuable time.

Soon, he was lying on the coffee table beside Peter and the transfusion began. He grew dizzy the longer the process went on, but it didn't matter. Peter needed his blood, and he was going to get it.

"Okay, that's enough," Mary said after taking Kermit's vital signs once more.

Kermit grabbed her sleeve. "Is it really enough? Keep going if he needs more... "

Mary's expression softened and she put her hand over his. "No, it's enough. You've given your friend a much better chance of making it to the hospital alive."

She got up and headed into the kitchen. Kermit's head dropped back onto the coffee table, exhausted, but encouraged. Then he glanced over at Peter and his encouragement dissipated when he couldn't see any visible difference in Peter's appearance. His cynical mind went into high gear. Maybe Mary had lied to him. Maybe Peter hadn't received enough blood. He was about to say that very thing when Peter started to move.

Kermit released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Joe removed the needle and tubing from Kermit's arm, and bandaged the site. "Now, just stay put there for a while."

Mary came back with some juice and crackers. "Here, try to get something in your stomach. Losing a pint of blood in your weakened state will be the equivalent of two units or more, so take it easy."

Kermit nodded and took the cup of juice from her as he watched them checking Peter's vitals again. It became more apparent that Peter was fighting to regain consciousness and it was the best thing Kermit had seen in days.

"Fight it, kid. Come on back to us," he whispered.

It took a moment for Kermit to realize the young detective kept murmuring the same thing over and over. At first, it was indiscernible, then Kermit knew what Peter was saying. "In a box. No more air."

A cold unlike anything Kermit had felt all night crept into his soul with those softly whispered words. An unbidden mental picture formed in his mind, one of Kelly and Skalany suffocating in the icy waters of the lake with no more air to breathe.

As Peter became more alert, the words changed. "Gonna die in this box. Oh God, we're gonna die in this box."

The paramedics continued to work on Peter while Kermit sat up and moved to his chair at the end of the sofa. He hung on Peter's every word. Peter's agitation increased and he began to flail his arms. Kermit put a hand on Peter's shoulder and started to shake him awake, worried at first that the kid was caught in another one of his torturous nightmares.

Joe stopped him. "Your partner is going to be in a world of hurt when he comes to. No use in rushing him to that point. Just let him be."

Kermit hesitated, and then decided the EMT was probably right. He pushed up his dark glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, wondering if Peter might really be picking up on the emotions Kelly and Skalany had to be feeling – that was if they were still alive.

Peter gasped loudly and his eyes flew open, finding Kermit immediately and he started to reach for him. "Kermit!" he said in a loud, breathless whisper.

Joe held Peter's hand in place and said, "Don't move, Detective Caine. You have some serious injuries and you need to remain still."

Peter's glance at Joe and Mary revealed his frustration before it darted back to Kermit. Instead of using his hand to reach out to Kermit, Peter reached out with his gaze, his expression frantic. "Kermit, we have to find them. They're running out of air. It's almost gone. Geez, it's almost gone... " he whispered, gasping for air himself around his hoarsely spoken words.

Everything about Peter radiated urgency, and he began to resist the attempts to keep him still as Joe tried to calm him. "Easy, buddy, easy. The only place you are going is to the hospital."

Peter launched into a rebuttal, even if it appeared to take everything he had to speak. "No, you don't understand. I think I can find them. I... can sense them through their panic and their fear. They are so close to us. Kermit, I really think I can find them."

Kermit stared at Peter, searching his eyes for verification, those dark hazel eyes that sometimes saw things Kermit would never be able to see in his entire life. When Kermit stared at Peter, all he could see was Peter's steadfast belief. Still, Kermit had to deal with the reality of his own conscience and eventually Paul's, too.

"I don't know, Peter. You're in pretty bad shape. You just got a transfusion and will probably need more before you'll be out of the woods. These people are right. You shouldn't be moving around right now."

Peter shook his head, then closed his eyes, and went very still. A miraculous change came over him as Kermit watched – something of major proportion. Within moments, Peter wasn't as pale and his breathing had slowed.

Though, Kermit found his own respiration had increased from what he'd just witnessed. How the hell did Peter do that? When Peter opened his eyes again, he was able to speak in almost a normal tone. What was more, the pain that had drawn deep lines in his face moments before seemed to have vanished.

Peter pinned his gaze on him. "Kermit, I can do this. We have to. It's the only way to find them in time."

Kermit frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. _'Damn it to hell, why was the decision up to him anyway?' _

Maybe, it was because Kermit was just crazy enough to believe Peter could actually pull off a stunt like that. It didn't hurt that he had a personality intimidating enough to make the average soul cower away. When Kermit broke eye contact with Peter, he spoke without hesitation, looking to the paramedics beside him. "Let him up."

Both paramedics gave Kermit a double-take. "Are you nuts?" Joe exclaimed.

"Ah, hell, what am I saying," he muttered after pausing for a moment, and then he pointed at Kermit. "You also refused medical care. What is it with you people?"

Kermit's gaze narrowed, and he leaned closer to them as they still tried to keep Peter from rising, his voice low and direct. "This is how it's going to go down. We are going to find those two missing women and then I swear to you that we will be all yours. Scout's honor. So, I suggest you allow my friend to get up or you'll be needing one of your own paddy wagons to take you to the hospital. Got it?"

The two stared at Kermit in disbelief. The man's gaze darted to Peter, then to his instruments, and back to Kermit. "You are obviously no fool, Detective Griffin. You have to realize by moving around with injuries as severe as your partner's, well, it could kill him. In fact, it probably will."

Kermit didn't flinch. "And your point is?" he responded as he got to his feet, trying to mask the severity of his own injuries.

"Ah, geez," Mary exclaimed. "Do you believe this crap, Joe?" she asked of her partner, "These people are frigging nuts!"

Joe shook his head, but continued, "This is my final attempt to make both of you listen to reason. I want to make sure you are fully aware of two very distinct possibilities."

Glancing down at Peter, his hand still resting against Peter's arm, Joe said, "One: Moving around in your condition will reverse any good we might have done here, not to mention that it will probably send you back into deep shock."

Then he turned his attention to Kermit, speaking low and calm. "Two: You have broken bones, probably internal injuries going on, too. You just gave a pint of your blood to your friend. Moving around at this point may put you in the same boat as him."

Kermit couldn't help but glance down at Peter as the paramedic listed his concerns. The man had some valid points, causing Kermit to waver slightly, but Peter's begging gaze steeled Kermit's resolve again. Throwing off the blanket around his shoulders, Kermit said, "You might be right. We all might be crazy as they come, but I still say we're going to give it a shot."

Mary put up one hand in disbelief. Kermit turned towards her, keeping his voice low. "Listen, my friend here can sometimes do things that are beyond the norm – amazing things that defy common sense. You saw what he just did. For that reason and many others, he must be given the opportunity to at least try. If he passes out, he's all yours, but if he can find them, I'm not going to stand in his way."

Peter closed his eyes with Kermit's speech, smiling at the end as his fingers brushed against Kermit's pant leg and he whispered, "Thanks."

Mary stood and started to argue. Kermit was a little taken aback. Not many people ever argued with him when he used that particular tone in his voice. _ 'Maybe I am worse off than I thought,'_ Kermit wondered distantly as he watched Joe reach up, and touch her arm as he stood, too.

"It's not our job to argue with patients to get the care they need, Mary," he said quietly.

She nodded and held her hands up again, then walked around to the back of the sofa. "Hey, it's your funeral, guys. Joe's right. Both of you need to be in a hospital and would already be there, if we could have safely transported you in this storm. We don't need to beg you to be able to do our jobs, but if Peter moves around, we might not be able to help him afterwards."

Kermit straightened as much as he could and met her gaze. "No more talk about hospitals at the moment. We've got work to do."

Kermit went to help Peter rise, but he wasn't strong enough to keep both of them upright. Before both detectives crashed back down to the couch, Joe latched onto Peter's uninjured arm, and helped him to his feet as Kermit dealt with his own balance issues.

One glance at Mary and Kermit wasn't sure who was more surprised by Joe's unexpected actions, himself or Mary. Joe sighed and shook his head. "You know, Mary, we should have sedated both of these idiots earlier. Head injury or not. I could lose my job over something like this and probably should!"

Kermit smiled smugly. "Or receive a medal for assisting in the recovery of two police detectives held hostage by a madman. It's all in your point of view."

"Holy Jesus," Mary muttered as she gathered up Peter's IV and moved to Kermit's side, indicating for him to step away so that she could get closer to Peter. She was right and he knew it. In Kermit's current state, he'd be of no help if Peter passed out.

"God save me from kids, fools and hotdog heroes," she whispered under her breath as she swept one arm under Peter's.

"Fools rush in where angels fear to tread," Kermit replied, and then he glanced at Peter before making way for the woman helping him. "Thanks for the assist, Angel."

"The name's Mary and I assure you I'm no angel," she answered without looking at him again.

Kermit smirked. He liked this woman. As she turned her back to him, Kermit glanced over to see how Peter was doing. The kid hadn't said a word since they helped him to stand. Kermit wasn't sure if it was because Peter was trying to concentrate on finding Kelly and Skalany, or if he was about to pass out on them.

Just when Kermit had decided it was the latter, Peter's eyes flew open and his head turned in the direction of the kitchen before sweeping around the room and toward the front door.

"Which way, kid?" Kermit asked.

Peter's gaze darted around once more before he closed his eyes again. "Down, we need to go down."

Kermit sighed deeply. Damn, they'd just started, only to be waylaid just as quickly. "Sorry, kid, but if you're talking about them being underwater, that's where everybody is right now. Out searching the lake. We found some scuba gear under the dock and Paul's boat was back into the water. We think Stamper dumped them somewhere in the lake."

"No," Peter gasped, nearly collapsing as his knees buckled and Kermit caught the worried gazes of the paramedics struggling to get a better hold of him.

"He's going into shock again," Mary said grimly.

Kermit looked from Peter to the paramedics, and back to Peter again. He placed a hand on Peter's chest. "You okay to continue?"

"Yeah," Peter rasped, his eyes still closed.

"This could all be an hallucination," Joe said in a hushed whisper.

"No," Peter said breathlessly. "They are here. Not in the water. Not cold like water would be."

Kermit sighed again. Peter looked like death warmed over. Damn it to hell, he could be helping the kid kill himself with this notion, but there was still something so compelling in Peter's voice and mannerisms that kept Kermit holding onto hope. It really looked like Peter could sense where they were, but could they get Peter to guide them there in time?

"Basement," Peter whispered finally.

Kermit suppressed a third sigh. "It's already been searched, kid. Twice. Along with the attic, and the rest of the cabin."

Peter shook his head even as he tried to catch his breath. "No, they're down there. I can feel them. God, Kermit, they're so afraid they'll die down there."

Kermit licked his lips. "Okay, let's move if we are going to give this a shot."

He glanced at Peter again and almost reversed himself. Something good had better happen pretty fast or else the shit was really going to hit the fan.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

The wind coming off the lake chilled Paul to the bone, even with all the layers of clothing he was wearing and it only made the pouring rain seem that much more frigid. His stomach twisted from the rough water and he was glad he hadn't eaten in several hours because he probably would have lost it over the side of the boat.

They had searched the lake, in ever-increasing arcs, moving away from the cabin without finding any sign of a marker or buoy that would indicate where the missing women might be hidden.

George Temple, of the lake patrol, approached him and said, "I just checked with the other teams and no one has anything to report. I'm sending a crew to dredge the lake around your dock to see – "

Paul shook his head, his arms folded in front of him, as if to shield himself from the very words he was hearing. "I know, I heard you on the radio. The dredging will have to be done, but it won't be of any help to my missing detectives if what Stamper said was true."

The man's gaze looked away, searching the dark waters. When he turned back to Paul, he appeared resigned to accept Paul's assessment and nodded in reluctant agreement.

"Call off the rest of your search teams," Paul said, hearing the flat tone in his voice again and knew it sounded as dead as Kelly and Skalany would soon be, wherever they were.

Without warning, the rain increased in its intensity, almost horizontal in direction and a flash of lightning appeared in the distance. "Looks like we're in for more stormy weather," George said quietly, remaining by Paul's side, instead of calling the search teams home.

The echo of approaching thunder accented his comment. Paul shook his head and started to reply, but his voice broke with his first word. Unable to speak, Paul turned in the direction of his cabin. There were still some stubborn flames that refused to be extinguished in the forest behind Paul's cabin, even with the presence of heavy rain, so it was easy to pick out.

Damn, Stamper had set them up like lambs led to the slaughter. Even with their best anticipatory plans, the man had surprised them in ways only an inspired madman could have done.

George patted him on the shoulder, lingering for another moment, then he stepped away to make the announcement to the other search teams. Paul thought of Jody, Blake, and Chin on the other boats. They wouldn't take the news well. Hell, he wasn't reacting to it too well himself, having just been rendered speechless by the reality of it all.

Now, when the boats headed back out again, they would be on a recovery mission, not a rescue. _'Damn it, how the hell am I supposed to face Peter and Kermit now,'_ he asked himself and slammed a fist against the boat's railing.

Paul thought back to Chin's discovery of the scuba gear under the dock. He'd felt such excitement, as had the others. The excitement had faded as the minutes ticked by until hope was only a distant memory. There was just no way the missing detectives could ever survive three hours underwater in the near freezing temperature. The wind's sharp bite reminded Paul that soon the shallow areas of the lake would start freezing over as the rains of late fall blended into the change of seasons and became the ice of winter.

Would Kelly and Skalany be found before the lake froze over or in the spring thaw... or if ever?

_'Damn!' _He slammed his fist against the railing again as he tried to think like Stamper would have thought.

The madman had probably come up on the cabin, using the scuba gear to afford him enough stealth to surprise McMasters and the two women. Paul closed his eyes, imagining how it had gone down. The kitchen had been a mess when they searched it. There was burnt chicken in a pan that had been thrown into the sink. Chopped and unchopped vegetables were all over the counter and the floor. They'd been in the process of making dinner when the attack started with an obvious struggle.

Once he'd captured them, Stamper had launched Paul's boat. For what? To hide the women in the water, or perhaps to use it as his escape vehicle. Perhaps, he'd even planned to use it again as his escape vehicle. Somewhere along the way, then he'd laid out his many fire bombs and trip wires. Considering the vast numbers already discovered, the man must have worked like the devil to get them all in place before he made his telephone call to Peter at the hospital.

Shaking his head, Paul thought of Peter and Kermit... of Annie... and the conversations he'd have to have with them, and the notifications of the next of kin for Kelly and Skalany. None of that was going to be easy. Each discussion would be another weight upon his shoulders, another burden to carry.

He struggled against tears as he envisioned their individual reactions and the thought of two more police funerals to attend. How was he supposed to face those mourning as a superior, and offer them some type of hope for the future when he'd lost all hope himself?

The news of their deaths might be enough to do Peter in. His condition was so precarious. A third funeral could possibly follow and that was one Paul couldn't bear to consider. Paul's legs weakened by activity, the rain and cold, and the increasing roughness of the water caused his knees to buckle and he went down hard.

The biting scent of ammonia brought him back in a hurry. He blinked and glanced around, trying to regain his bearings. His old friend, George, was kneeling at his side, a first aid kit opened next to him. "You passed out, Paul. How are you feeling?"

Paul forced himself to sit up, but even that small effort had his head swirling again. "Sorry, I guess the day just got to me."

"More likely it slammed into you and with good reason. I've known you for a long time, Paul, both you and your family. This has to be tough, especially with Peter in bad shape and you still recovering from your accident."

Paul felt George eying him closely. He'd stopped by the cabin after Paul and Annie had gone up there to recuperate from Paul's attack by the Shadow Assassins, so he already knew of Paul's injuries. Judging by the dour expression on his face, he wasn't leaving Paul's side until he was sure Paul wouldn't collapse again.

George motioned to one of his people and a thermos of coffee was brought over. He handed the steaming cup to Paul who inhaled its rich scent, then sipped. He looked up at George over the edge of his cup and said, "I'm not the one you need to worry about, George. It's those people back at the cabin when we return home without Kelly or Skalany. That's when all hell will break loose."

George nodded in sad agreement. "We gave it our best shot."

"And we lost big time," Paul whispered in reply.

Moving slowly, Paul handed the cup back to George and got to his feet, leaning heavily on George and the boat's railing to get there. He found himself whispering a quote he'd heard long ago. "_'In a mad world, only the mad are sane.'_"

"What?" George asked, leaning closer to hear him, only then did Paul realize he'd said the words aloud.

Paul shook his head as he leaned against the rails with his elbows. "Just thinking out loud," he replied. "I'm okay, really. I just need a few moments alone... to brace myself for what's ahead."

Temple seemed to understand Paul's request and honored it. He walked forward to the helm, though he gave Paul a fleeting glance every few seconds. Paul stared in the direction of the cabin as the boat began a gradual turn in preparation of approaching his dock. The few fires still burning in the forest behind the cabin gave a surrealistic backlighting effect.

Paul replayed the events as they had unfolded, looking for another way he might have handled things, then he sighed. Over the last week, he'd spent a lot of time trying to get inside Stamper's head. And tonight, as he'd listened to him rant, Paul had worked hard to think like the ex-Navy Seal. Finally, he had an understanding of the man, but perhaps, he'd entered Stamper's world of madness without knowing it, lingering there a little too long, and that explained his muddled thinking ever since.

He shook his head and straightened his stance. It was time to leave the madness behind them and reenter the world of reality – the harsh reality of death and failure. He leaned down on the boat's railing, not caring if the spray of lake water hit him.

If it could have been him down in those dark waters, he'd gladly have switched places with his missing detectives, but that option hadn't been left open to him. Instead, he prepared himself for the pain and loss that would wash over the faces of those he commanded – and especially those he loved.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Kermit and the paramedics were just leading Peter toward the kitchen when Paul and the others walked in the front door. Kermit could tell with a single glance that they hadn't had any success in their search. The alarm that came over Paul's expression as he saw Peter up caused Kermit to step forward and put up a hand in warning.

"Paul, Peter says he can find them. You know the amazing things Caine and Peter have accomplished in the past. We were just going down to the basement to check it out."

Paul pulled off his gloves and jacket, giving both men a critical examination, then threw the articles of clothing down in a chair with disgust. "It's been searched twice already. There's nothing new down there. Just like there was nothing in the lake."

Peter shook his head, glancing to Paul, as if seeing him for the first time. "No, I can feel them, Paul... really feel what they are feeling. God, they're dying as we speak. They're in the basement, but we've got to hurry."

Paul sighed, the weight of the world on his shoulders. Rubbing his rain-soaked face, he stared at the floor for a moment.

"Should they even be up and walking around?" Paul asked finally, looking up at Mary and Joe, Peter and Kermit's unwilling accomplices.

The paramedics only shook their heads in silent reply.

He bit his lip, then said with sarcasm, "So, I take it that's exactly why they are both up and walking around?"

When there was no response, Kermit stepped toward Paul, but not before Paul exploded. "God damn it, Kermit! You should know better!!"

Kermit had no inclination to stand around and argue with him. "Ah, fuck it, Paul, you're right. Okay, you're absolutely right when you look at the this thing on pure fact alone, but with Peter and his father, you have to deal in a realm beyond facts, so we're doing this thing even if you don't approve."

Paul stared at Kermit hard, disbelief written all over his expression, and then Peter spoke up again. His voice was more breathless each time he spoke, but there was no mistaking the pleading in Peter's voice. "Paul, please, I can't get down there by myself. Please help me... to help them," Peter begged with tears in his eyes. "If only you could feel what I'm feeling from them."

"From them?" Paul asked in confusion.

Peter nodded and closed his eyes. "Skalany just passed out because her oxygen is almost gone. Kelly's barely conscious."

With Peter's new revelation, Kermit watched Paul cave into Peter's request. Another moment of silence and then Paul spoke up, "Okay, let's go and see what's down there."

Peter shot Paul a look of gratitude and Kermit stepped back, allowing Paul and the other detectives to lead the way down. It would take longer for them to carry Peter down there. And every moment counted – at least, according to Peter's barely conscious rambling.

By the time they'd made it down from the kitchen, others of the lake patrol had gone outside and had entered the basement through the cellar door. Kermit's entourage had just come down the stairs when he heard Chin talking to Paul.

"There's no sign of digging anywhere in here," Chin's voice reflecting his disappointment. Jody and Blake were still searching, but then stopped when Chin said what they had already been thinking.

Peter shook his head. "Not... in... the... ground," he whispered in single word gasps of air. They had just reached the bottom of the stairs and were stepping out onto the basement floor.

With that announcement, everybody turned in a circle, holding up flashlights and lanterns looking for another way the women could be hidden.

"That box, Paul. That big crate in the corner," Peter said, sounding near collapse. "It... shouldn't... be... here... "

Paul turned in the direction Peter indicated and saw a large storage box pushed back into a far corner with other boxes and items of storage in front of it. Paul stammered, "Damn – damn it, he's right. That's not ours. I can't imagine why we didn't see it before... "

"You only came down here for a moment," Jody said as they rushed forward.

The excitement in the room jumped a thousandfold as people rushed to the corner, tossing aside the other boxes in the way, making room to get to the large crate.

"Hurry – Kelly just passed out, too," Peter whispered loud enough to be heard by all as he opened his eyes.

Hope swept into Kermit's heart only to vanish as he glanced into Peter's hazel eyes. They reflected all of the despair the two women had to be feeling as they fell unconscious. And if Peter was right, they didn't have much time. Not much time left at all. God help Peter if they got that close, only to open the crate and find the women dead.

Joe turned to Mary, amazement marking his features. "Do you believe this?"

Mary shook her head in muted awe. Kermit moved closer to Peter as Joe leaned over to her. He had to speak loudly to be heard over the sudden rise in conversations between those in the basement. "Listen, Mary, I've got Peter. Kermit can help me while you're gone. Go out and grab some more oxygen tanks. If what he's saying is true, they will need oxygen to help revive them once they open that case."

Mary nodded and took off out the basement door leading outside, nabbing George Temple to help her as she went. Joe gave Kermit another questioning glance, one still reflecting his lingering disbelief as Kermit simply turned his attention back to what was happening in the corner.

In those brief moments of Kermit's diverted attention, Paul and the others had reached the crate. Chin snatched a box of tools from a nearby shelf and brought it over to the large wooden box. Upon closer examination, it looked like tar had been used to seal every possible opening for air to enter.

Blake stepped forward with his electronics equipment in hand. Using precious moments, Blake checked the perimeter of the crate, pausing to shake his head. "It's rigged. Give me a moment."

"They... don't... have... moments," Peter said breathlessly, bitter frustration echoing in every word.

Kermit shook his head. "Peter, they are unconscious and using less oxygen. We have the few extra seconds needed to keep from blowing them to bits," Kermit said, even then he knew Peter wouldn't hear him.

Nodding, Blake turned to Chin. "I need my backpack. I left it in the living room by the sofa where we were working on Peter."

Chin nodded and took off. Blake looked at Paul. "Get your knife out and help me define the contact points."

As the two worked, Chin came racing back down the stairs. "Got it."

"Good," Blake said as he took it from him. He pulled what he needed from the backpack and took a deep breath.

"We should probably clear the basement," he said, giving Paul a grim look.

"The hell you are," Kermit said softly. "I'm staying."

Paul took a deep breath. "Okay, he's right. We don't want anyone else in danger. Everyone, please leave now."

When no one moved, Paul looked over at George for assistance. George stepped. "He's right, people. Move outside until we get this disarmed."

As people stepped around him on their way out, Peter stepped closer. "Just... do... it... Blake," he said in a breathless whisper.

Kermit moved along with Peter, but he worried about Peter's coloring and how he'd gone to single syllable sentences. Blake nodded, but waited nervously until the room was clear of nonessential personnel, then he moved quickly, but carefully around the crate.

It seemed like an eternity, but it was only moments later when he said, "All clear, open it up."

Not wasting any time, Paul and Chin cracked open the lid of the sealed crate with a crowbar and found two body bags lying side-by-side. Paul swallowed and brushed his chin with the back of one hand. Finally, he unzipped each body bag and found Skalany and Kelly lying inside them, with a tank of oxygen for each of them, the masks covering their faces so no outside oxygen could be used.

As Peter had said, they were both unconscious. Paul reached down and pulled the oxygen masks off their faces so that they could breathe the air in the room, and then pressed two fingers against Kelly's carotid artery and then Skalany's.

Turning back with a broad smile, Paul announced, "They're alive!"

A cheer filled the basement as Mary and George came rushing back with the oxygen. Mary pushed her way through to check the vitals of the two women. George was right behind her.

With Paul's announcement and medical care at hand, Peter collapsed, his duty now done. Others helped Joe and Kermit catch Peter, though Joe was doing most of the catching. Stronger arms than Kermit's took over for the ex-merc as others volunteered to help carry Peter upstairs.

"I'm taking him back upstairs to my equipment," Joe said grimly as he looked directly at Kermit, his expression revealing his concern for his patient.

The entourage made for the stairs, carrying Peter with as much care as possible. Kermit bit his lip as he cursed his own injuries that prevented him from helping. Glancing back toward the unconscious women and those around them, Kermit caught Paul watching Peter's unconscious departure.

Paul's gaze reflected every bit of worry and frustration that Kermit felt and more.

"I'll stay with him, Paul," Kermit promised, saying the only thing he could think of, as he headed for the stairs. "You stay with the ladies. Watch over them as Peter would do if he could."

Kermit started up the stairs, wondering what he'd find when he got to the top of them. They might have just saved two lives, but would it be at the cost of another, namely Peter's?

Kermit had to grip the railing as one hand held his aching upper torso, but he couldn't concentrate on mounting the stairs and worrying about Peter at the same time, so he focused on the stairs instead. All of a sudden, it seemed like they led to the summit of Mt. Everest, instead of the ground floor of the cabin a few feet above them.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	14. Chapter 14

1

**Chapter Fourteen**

Paul nodded to Kermit and reluctantly forced himself to turn back to Kelly and Skalany as Mary replaced their spent oxygen tanks, though his heart was still with Peter. Paul told himself there wasn't much he could do to help Peter, except hold his hand, and Kermit could do that for the few short minutes it would take to move Kelly and Skalany upstairs.

He glanced again toward the stairs and paused when he saw Kermit inching his way upward, moving slower than Paul's grandmother had at the age of eighty-nine years. Not good, not good at all. Chin was behind him, closely following him on the steps with one hand raised behind his back, ready to catch Kermit should he stagger.

Paul spared a glance at his newly found detectives and changed his mind. He knew Kermit had been right about one thing. Peter would want him here, watching over the unconscious women in his stead, making sure they were okay.

"Can we move them yet?" Paul asked, looking over the paramedic's shoulder.

"In another minute," she replied, sounding distracted as she worked on the women.

Hopefully, Kelly and Mary Margaret didn't have any serious injuries. Both women were bloodied and bruised, Skalany more so of the two. He prayed they would revive without any permanent harm done, other than the scare of almost dying.

Paul felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Jody beside him, tears filling her eyes. "We found them. We actually found them."

Paul nodded and put a hand over hers as he said, "Peter found them. God bless him. He found them when we'd all given up all hope."

She nodded in disbelief.

Mary finally nodded in approval and started to stand. "Okay, we can move them. We'll need two Stokes stretchers to carry them upstairs. That will save time later when we are ready to transport them to the hospital."

Volunteers took off running for the stretchers. There was such optimism and excitement in the air. It was almost contagious, but when Paul glanced upward, his mind was only on Peter and Kermit. An invisible knife twisted in his gut and he felt compelled to go upstairs as fast as he could.

_'Peter looked bad,'_ Paul thought, remembering Peter's limp form being carried up the stairs, _'Worse than ever before. What if he doesn't... '_

Paul shuddered, and pushed away the unfinished thought. Peter was going to make it, right along with Kermit, Kelly and Mary Margaret. They all had to make it after everything that had gone on. Fate would be beyond cruel to allow any of them to die after such extreme measures and sacrifices had been made.

He headed upstairs and heard Blake behind him as he went up the stairs, in much the same position as Chin had taken with Kermit. Paul cursed as he had to hold onto the rail for support as Kermit had moments before.

Paul felt nearly drained. The last twenty-four hours on top of an intense week had almost done him in. When Paul reached the top of the stairs, huffing and puffing more than usual, Blake put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay, Paul?"

Paul smiled as he tried to steady his breathing. "How could I not be? We've got them all back again. By some miracle, we've got them all back again. This damned nightmare is finally drawing to an end."

Blake's expression flickered with equal relief before he frowned, eyeing him with renewed concern. "You sure? You were having a tough time with those stairs."

Paul swallowed, still trying to slow his breathing, and then glanced at Blake with a bit of embarrassment. "Getting old, my friend."

Blake acknowledged Paul's confession with a grin, but his expression was still lined with worry as he offered, "I thought they told us it wasn't about getting older, it was about getting better with time."

"That's wine and not old soldiers, Blake," Paul offered as he chuckled.

Finally, his breathing had slowed. "Besides, I'd give up better for older, if the difference would help Peter to make it through this intact."

"He will, Paul. And the rest of them, too. They are all tough people. Tougher than you give them credit for."

Paul sighed, glancing through the kitchen door to where Joe was working to stabilize Peter again. The man didn't look happy. In fact, his tense movements told a story Paul didn't want to listen to, one that was much too frightening to even consider.

Stepping away from Blake, Paul took broad steps to enter the living room. Paul's chest tightened with apprehension as he concentrated on Peter and the scene of controlled chaos around him.

Kermit glanced up from where he'd been sitting with his sunglasses off, watching the others work. Worry marked Kermit's pale features and Paul knew the man would be pacing if he could move without toppling over. "He went into cardiac arrest after we got up here," he whispered, guilt and anger still lingering in his voice.

Chin was beside Joe helping, and he shot Paul a troubled glance, confirming Kermit's words. Paul swallowed back a wave of panic. He stepped closer as Blake moved in to help Kermit – the man looked close to passing out again.

"We just got him back as you walked in. It's still touch-and-go," Kermit said, his voice barely above a whisper as he tried to stand without success.

Paul moved around the couch to help Blake with Kermit, stepping over the used paraphernalia from Peter's emergency treatment – the paper and plastic remnants of lifesaving measures.

Joe grumbled aloud as he worked, "I should have my head examined for letting him move around in the first place."

By then, the others were bringing Kelly and Skalany in. All it took was one look from Paul and Jody stopped what she was doing, rushing over to them.

"What happened?" Jody asked with hesitation as she came to a stop in front on them.

"We almost lost him is what happened. Damn it to hell!" Paul said, nearly shouting.

His outburst momentarily stopped some of the activity around those helping Kelly and Skalany. Paul ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath to force himself to settle down a bit. Kermit went limp without warning, sliding out of his chair before he could stop himself. Both Jody and Blake helped to stop him from falling to the floor and situated him in his seat more securely.

Turning to one of the paramedics, Jody said, "We need some oxygen over here."

George's head popped up. "I've got another tank on my boat. Kenny, can you get it?" he asked a man beside him. The man nodded and ran out the front door.

Kermit looked up, trying to sound nonchalant. "I'm fine," he rasped, his ash-white skin telling the world otherwise.

"Oh yeah," Paul said, shaking his head. "Sure you are, my friend."

"You should call Annie," Kermit countered.

Paul knew what Kermit was up to, trying to take the attention off of him by any means possible. Paul sighed as he considered Kermit's suggestion, but then looked over at Peter, and the paramedic still fighting to stabilize him.

"I don't think so. Not yet. Not until we're at the hospital and have more information, then I'll let Bennie know the coast is clear and have him bring Annie and the girls from his place to the hospital."

Their conversation paused as Joe shouted, "Mary, I could use a little more help here!"

Mary looked to George who waved her on as he moved between Kelly and Skalany. "I can watch over them. Go help Joe."

Kermit nodded, still holding tightly to his injured torso as he glanced over at Peter. "Think he's going to make it?"

Jody put a blanket over Kermit's shoulders just as the oxygen arrived. Kermit didn't argue as the mask was held up to his face. Paul looked at Peter and felt his chin begin to tremble with fear. He struggled for control for a moment, then whispered, "He's in bigger hands than ours right now."

As the paramedics continued to work, Chin stepped back into the kitchen. It wasn't long before he returned with a new tray of coffee mugs, apparently feeling the need to do something, anything, to help out again. Paul took the brew gratefully as did the others, then Roger went over to put another log on the fire.

It was a cold night and the chill was affecting them all. Then again, the chill of death's touch had passed over their group many times that evening and still could sweep some of them away within its icy claws. Paul sipped on his coffee and prayed. It wasn't something he was used to doing, but since Peter had entered his life, Paul had found himself doing it with increasing frequency.

Another sip of coffee and another prayer went up. So many in the room were in need of help – the kind of help Paul couldn't provide, so he prayed instead. Actually, it was the only thing left for him to do.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Snatches of nearby conversations came to Peter as he drifted in unconsciousness. The content of those conversations should have frightened him, but he was at a place beyond the reach of such concerns.

"Start a second line! His blood pressure is dropping way too fast."

Peter heard the deep concern in the voices drifting around him, but he was unable to move, let alone open his eyes to see what was happening. Pain blended with the relief of knowing Kelly and Skalany were okay. Once he'd heard that pronouncement, he'd let go of his battle to remain conscious. They were alive. Thank God, they were alive. It had all been worth it.

All Peter had to do was relax and recover, but alarms started sounding deep within. It seemed as if he was being distanced from his pain, instead something was drawing him closer to the beckoning call of the Bardo world. He's done far more than let go of his consciousness – his hold on life had grown precariously weak in those ensuing moments, too.

Paul's voice interrupted Peter's slow, but steady drift away from pain and life. "Hang on, Peter, damn it, you hang on!"

Peter turned back toward the pain, but only because this pain belonged the man who'd been his father for many important years. The agony echoing in Paul's voice caught Peter's attention, forcing him to come back, if only to make sure Paul was okay.

"Peter, you fought damned hard to find Kelly and Skalany, even when everyone else had given up. Now, you have to fight even harder for yourself. Fight! It's one of the things you do best! Fight, damn it, fight to stay with us."

Paul's voice broke off at the end, and Peter cringed to hear such misery in his hoarsely whispered orders. Drifting closer to Paul, he could heard Paul talk, something he shouldn't have been able to hear over the blasting sirens above them.

"Peter, son, please hang on. I – I need you in my life... in all our lives. You are a part of us. Just fight... "

Paul's impassioned speech encouraged Peter to turn towards life, but the closer he came, the greater was his pain.

Then he heard Joe nearly shout with relief, "His vitals are stabilizing. Your detective is pretty damned amazing, in body and spirit."

Peter heard Paul's rough breathing and then somehow knew that tears of relief were being shed, falling down the stoic police captain's face, but right then, Paul wasn't a cop. He was merely a father in fear of losing his son. Moving closer to comfort him, Peter battled against pain like he'd never known before. The return to life seemed more agonizing than he could bear, but then there was Paul holding his hand, never stopping as he whispered words of encouragement.

_'How can I leave you behind,'_ Peter asked himself, but without the ability to speak, he couldn't talk to Paul.

Peter hovered close to Paul, when all of a sudden, he was whisked away, no matter how hard he fought to stay with Paul – moving to that place where the matters of mortal life no longer held any concern, and it appeared Stamper may have succeeded in attaining his ultimate goal of killing Peter after all.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	15. Chapter 15

1

**Chapter Fifteen**

Peter opened his eyes to the darkness of a hospital room, surprised to still be alive, wispy memories of impending death floating across his consciousness. They were dissipating now, like the fading remnants of a vivid dream upon waking. Peter felt Kelly rouse as she awoke, too. She'd fallen asleep in a chair at his bedside, her head resting beside his hand.

"Peter!" she exclaimed in a loud whisper when she saw his eyes were open.

"Kel?" Peter asked, but his voice was little more than a whisper.

He moved his hand toward hers, though he was so weak, it didn't move far. He glanced from her to his surroundings, hearing a few of the beeps and mechanical noises of the machines around him and he knew he was in ICU. He felt like crap. His weakness laid over him like a heavy blanket. He felt pain, but it was a distant thing, something numbed by drugs.

"You okay?" he rasped, squinting to see her better. She was alive, thank God, she was alive.

Kelly's eyes brimmed with tears as her chin began to tremble. "Yes, love, thanks to you," she said, moving closer to kiss him lightly on the forehead, then her lips moved to his mouth and she gave him a soft, intimate kiss. "You had us so scared, Peter."

Peter shushed her quietly. "Doesn't matter, Kel. All that matters... is we found you." He stopped to take a deep breath, even his abbreviated sentences winded him.

"God, I love you, Peter Caine. Putting your life on the line to save mine almost killed you – "

Peter interrupted her again. "Love does... crazy things," he said as he squeezed the fingers holding his hand.

Kelly rested her head against his chest, snuggling her head under his chin. "Thank you for what you did."

"Skalany?" he asked, too tired to ask his question with words like how and doing.

Kelly pressed her head against him a little more, then stayed there another moment, causing Peter's breath to hitch. Something was wrong. When she pulled away and looked up, there were fresh tears in her eyes.

He started to ask what it was, but suddenly, like the rush of an ill-fated wind steering a sailboat towards a dangerous reef, Peter felt himself being drawn back to unconsciousness and beyond. Something was wrong with Mary Margaret, but Peter couldn't stay with Kelly long enough to find out what it was.

He was losing his grip on consciousness fast – but it was more than just that. It felt scary and beyond his control, then he remembered the ambulance ride with Paul. He tightened his grip on Kelly's hand as he realized it felt like death's touch again.

"Love you," was all he could manage to gasp before he was gone again.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Kermit's low, graveled voice sounded much more ragged than Peter ever remembered hearing it when Peter awoke again. "Heard you tried to check out on us again last night, Peter. That's in bad form, considering everything that's been done to keep you alive up to this point."

Peter heard something akin to guilt in Kermit's tone, but he was much too tired to discern why. Hell, Peter couldn't even open his eyes, let alone try to speak, so the odds were high that Kermit's conversation would be decidedly one-sided. After a moment, he heard Kermit slowly make his way around the room, his IV stand squeaking as it rolled along beside him. He finally paused at the foot of the bed before returning to the safety of the window a few feet away. He stood there so long Peter thought he'd left the room.

Then Kermit's low voice resonated in the room again, even though he spoke in a tone slightly above a whisper. "There's a quote by Miguel de Cervantes that goes something like this, _'There is only one thing that I dislike in sleep; 'tis that it resembles death; there's very little the difference between a man in his first sleep, and a man in his last sleep.'_"

With that, Kermit started pacing again, talking as he went, "They say you're in a coma, unable to hear or know what's going on around you. I don't go for that – not with you. No way. I know you, Peter, and I know deep down inside that you can hear me and understand what I'm saying. I also know that you aren't ready for that last sleep yet, my friend. You've got too much living left to do before... "

The ex-merc went silent again and Peter imagined the older man deep in thought. It sounded like he was facing the window again when he said, "The docs say they're gonna kick me out of this place tomorrow, but I might just hang around here a little longer until they move you to Mercy General back home. Wouldn't want you to get bored or feel neglected."

He took a deep breath. "Mary Margaret came out of her coma yesterday. Stamper really gave her a beating. I don't think anyone mentioned her condition to you, mostly because they want you to focus on your own recovery, but I think good news should be shared. Her folks are here and she's starting to sound like her old self again. The docs said she could come up to see you in a day or two."

Peter heard Kermit shuffle to the foot of his bed, then slowly creep up by Peter's head. "My doctor told me I was to have complete bed rest for a week, but obviously he doesn't know me well... "

Kermit paused, taking a deep breath. "Look, I just came by to tell you to stop giving us scares like you did last night. You're going to survive because you've got a pint of my blood flowing in your veins. You'll be up in no time, tearing up the place in hopes of being kicked out. It's in the Griffin bloodline."

Kermit leaned closer to Peter's side. "Listen, when you wake up – and you will wake up – if you need anything no matter how big or little, you just send word and I'll be here. Anything, doesn't matter how small."

Kermit paused to smirk. "Well, if it's something really stupid, be prepared for a hazing... Damn, listen to me prattle on like some bleeding heart. They must be slipping something extra into my IV. You had better survive this or I'll be forced to personally bring you back just so I can end your existence myself."

Peter heard Kermit's ring tap on the bed railing. "I know Stamper did a number on you. If you ever need someone to talk to, just let me know. I'm a good listener. God only knows, if I had taken Stamper out the first time he touched you, so much of what happened afterwards could have been avoided. It was my duty to watch out for you and I failed. Failed miserably."

Peter heard Kermit move again, coming to a stop at the foot of his bed. "All I can say is I'm sorry, but those two words seem sadly lacking."

Slowly, Kermit made his way back to Peter's side, placing his hand on top of Peter's. "I let you down, my friend."

Peter didn't feel like he had the strength to open his eyes or even speak, but he had to stop Griffin's guilt trip. He struggled to move his fingers and managed to brush them across Kermit's. A tear trickled down Peter's face in frustration. Kermit must have seen it, because he stepped back suddenly.

Encouraged, Peter whispered, "Only... my... fault... "

Peter sighed with relief that he was able to do that much, although it felt like he was speaking through a mouthful of molasses. Peter heard Kermit drop into a chair beside his bed. Kermit's voice was husky when he finally spoke, though he tried to cover it with attitude. "We'll discuss the finer points of fault another time. For now, focus on getting stronger and healthier. And if you mention a word of what I've said to anyone, I'll be forced to do bodily harm to you."

When Peter managed to curl his lips into half a smile, Kermit clasped Peter's hand. "Hang in there, kid. There's lots of goodwill being tossed your way. You can't let your adoring fans down. I'll let you rest now. Talk to you later."

He patted Peter on the shoulder and left without saying another word, but he didn't need to say more. The two brothers-in-arms had communicated all that needed to be said for the moment.

**oOoOoOoOo**

The next thing Peter knew, he could hear Paul and Annie speaking quietly as they sat at the side of his hospital bed. Peter tried to move or speak, but the effort was once again beyond his abilities.

"Kermit should be released this morning," Paul told Annie.

"That's so good to hear," Annie replied, "He gave us a scare, too."

Her voice was so low with fatigue that Peter flinched, knowing he was responsible for it being there. Paul didn't seem to acknowledge his own exhaustion, or maybe he'd just become so accustomed to its presence, he didn't recognize it any longer.

Peter heard Paul push back his chair and begin to pace. "Annie, you really need to go get some rest. I can take you back to the cabin and when the girls come later on, you can come back with them."

"No, that's okay, Paul. I'm fine."

"No, you aren't," Paul replied, moving closer to her. "You've been here since early this morning and it's time for you to rest."

"Are you going to go to the cabin to rest, too?"

Paul didn't say anything.

"I'll go when you go," Annie said firmly.

"Ah, damn it," Paul cursed, walking to Peter's bed. "I just want to talk to Peter when he wakes up again, then I'll go home and sleep."

"Paul, we don't know when that will be. It could be minutes or days. You can't plan on staying here until then."

Peter heard a dull thud. He tried to analyze the sound, mulling it over for a few moments before it came to him – a fist hitting the wall.

"Well, goddamn it, that's just not good enough! This boy has been through hell and back! It's time for him to get back to the business of living!" Paul continued as he paced around the room. "He woke up for Kermit and Kelly. He sure as hell can wake up for us, too!"

He sighed deeply as he approached the bed and took Peter's hand in his. "Listen to me... damn, that sounds like something Peter would say."

He took a deep breath and said in a softer tone, "If it takes days, then I'll be here for days. I need to see him awake, Annie, after watching him die and be brought back more than once on the way to the hospital."

He sighed and gently rubbed Peter's hand. "I need to talk to him and make sure he's okay after everything that's happened."

There was a pause and movement, then Annie placed her hand over Paul's. "Honey, I know you're scared for him. He scared all of us when he stopped breathing the other night. If Kelly hadn't been there to call the nurse... "

Her voice broke and it took her a moment before she was able to continue. "We have to trust in Peter's strength to survive this. Peter knows how much we love him. He'll come back to us, just give him time."

Paul dropped Peter's hand and embraced Annie. Peter would have given anything to have the strength to reach out to them, but it simply wasn't possible. The silence was broken by the soft voice of a nurse coming into the room.

"I'm sorry, but Dr. Andersen has scheduled Peter for a short procedure. We need to prepare him for it."

"Yes, he told us. We'll go out to the waiting room."

Peter thought they had left, but then he felt Annie's gentle touch brushing his hair from his face before she bent down and kissed his forehead. A quick squeeze of the hand from Paul and then they were gone.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter had been awake for a few minutes. It was either early morning or late evening, gauging by the degree of light in the room. He wasn't in ICU any longer and he'd just about decided it was morning when Kelly walked in. She seemed as startled by his wakeful state as he was by her sudden appearance.

She gasped. "Peter, you're awake!"

Peter smiled at her and held out a hand. She rushed to his side, taking his hand and kissed it. "I thought I'd have to leave without being able to talk to you."

The smile on Peter's lips faded. "Leave?" he whispered, knowing pained confusion marked his expression.

Kelly's demeanor shifted with his. She dropped his hand and she took a few steps back. Her movements seemed filled with guilt. Peter recognized what he saw in her, since the emotion was something he was well versed in.

"Where are you going?" he asked when she didn't answer.

As he waited for an answer that didn't come, Peter focused on Kelly's pale complexion and the slight tremor in her hands. She looked like she was fighting against a surge of tears, then she hung her head. Without speaking, she reached out again and took his hand in hers. He could almost feel her intense emotions through their physical contact, even though Kelly barely held his hand.

Peter tightened his grip around her fingers and squeezed, trying to encourage her. "Kelly... what's bothering you?"

Kelly scratched at her neck and her gaze went upward. "I'm – I'm catching an early morning flight. I'm going home for a week or so," she whispered so quietly he could barely hear her.

"Why?" he asked, and then paused. He was almost afraid to hear her explanation, because deep down he already knew.

She couldn't meet his gaze and finally let go of his hand, then walked to the end of the bed. "I've – I've been with you day and night for the last week, watching you barely hang on to life for most of it. They moved you to Mercy General in Chinatown yesterday. You slept through it all."

She paused as she swallowed and wiped away a tear. "Dr. Wiseman has been warning us that you might not regain consciousness for days, maybe longer... otherwise, I wouldn't have even considered leaving you at a time like this."

"But... you're still leaving, aren't you?" Peter asked.

A part of him was deeply hurt that she was going away at a time like this, a time where he needed her so much. He didn't want to believe what he was hearing, but his eyes told him otherwise. Kelly looked gaunt. She'd lost pounds she couldn't afford to lose and the sluggish fatigue in her movements indicated she'd had gotten very little sleep in recent weeks – even less than the sparse sleep she'd been getting after the Shadow Assassin incident. She looked like she'd been through hell and back, and in reality, she had.

"Kel, talk to me," he said, wishing he could take her in his arms.

Instead, she stood by the end of his bed and wrapped her arms around herself as if to protect herself. From what... from him? God, she was leaving – because of something he'd done? Or couldn't prevent from happening? He felt his breathing become more rapid, then he shook his head, already knowing the answer.

All of this was his fault and there was no way he could take back the misery in her eyes, no way to soften the fear in her heart. In fact, there was no way to stop any of it. He'd let the damage happen without a way to fix it.

She started crying and he called to her again. "Come on, Kel. I can't come to you. Please come over here and talk to me... please," he begged with tears watering his own eyes.

Reluctantly, she came, but she didn't touch him. She stood, instead of sitting in the chair beside them, and licked her lips in an evident struggle for words. "I'm going home, Peter. I have to get out of here. It's not you. It's me. It's all me. I can't eat. I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see Willie standing over me... "

Her eyes squeezed shut and she trembled as she wrapped her arms around herself again. "I can still hear the way Willie giggled as he nailed the lid of the crate shut with me and Skalany trapped inside in those body bags, perhaps forever.

"Skalany was unconscious by that point. Stamper had beaten her pretty badly when he'd first showed up at the cabin, but I – I watched him as he zipped her body bag and then he bent down to kiss me before he sealed me in mine. Once the crate was sealed, I began to hear the noise of other boxes and crates being shifted around, and then silence."

She stopped and ran her fingers through her hair as if brushing away the bad memories. Her anxiety level was as high as Peter had ever seen it, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke again, "Peter, if devils truly walk upon this Earth, then we met one in Willie Stamper. He was hellbent on destroying everything that was good and strong between us."

Kelly's hands shook with fear. It radiated off of her in ever-increasing waves. For a moment, Peter felt paralyzed by the enormity of what she was feeling, as only someone who had been through similar horrors could sympathize. Kelly continued, but her voice grew softer as she went, "Then we were saved, just when I was sure Mary Margaret and I would both die in that crate."

She swallowed, her chin trembling with renewed force. "It was weird... I could almost feel you in my head, saying, _'Hang on, Kel, we're almost to you. You can't die now. You have to hold on for a few more seconds.'_"

Her expression tightened as she glanced up at him. "That had to be from the oxygen deprivation, right?"

Peter nodded, not wanting to add to Kelly's fear and confusion, mostly because he wasn't sure if he'd actually been able to talk to Kelly's mind in his weakened state, a feat he couldn't possibly manage in even the best of health.

"When I came to, I found out you were so close to death, but it didn't stop there. We almost lost you at the cabin, in the ambulance, and the last time came as I was holding you in my arms... "

Kelly threw her purse into a nearby chair, and wrapped her arms around herself again, but this time, they were so tightly drawn around her torso, it had to have hurt. Maybe she was so involved in her emotional misery that her physical discomfort went unnoticed.

"I just can't take this anymore, Peter. It's been weeks of watching you unconscious, recovering so slowly. I'm not made to wait around in hospitals and that's the only place you seem to wind up these days – as if death and mayhem follows you around like a second shadow."

She turned toward the window and stared out of it for a long moment. "There's been too much, too fast, for me to work through in the last month. The thing with the Shadow Assassins, and then Willie. I just – I just need some time away to rest... to heal. The Blaisdells said they would stay with you. And the gang from work promised to check on you often, especially with the move back to the city to Mercy General."

She turned back toward him and shuddered, reacting to what she saw in Peter's heartbroken expression. "I just can't stay here right now while I'm still trying to get my head screwed back on straight."

She moved to his side and this time, she sat down and took his hand in hers. "I love you. God, I love you. Maybe that's part of the problem. I love you so much it kills me to see you like this... especially knowing all you went through because of my connection with Stamper."

She shook her head once more, and then the tears began flowing again. She bit her lip, looking at Peter. Her expression had confusion written all over it, as if she was about to make some deep dark confession, something far worse than anything else she'd said so far. "All of this is my fault. I should have realized that Willie might try to make another run for me one day. I never understood how crazy he really was. If only I'd remembered about him sooner... "

Her tears began to flow freely again. "I hate myself for leaving you, but I'd direct all my hatred toward you if I stayed here, instead of taking care of myself."

She brushed her fingers across his bearded chin. "I love you too much for that."

Peter had let Kelly talk as much as she needed to, allowing her to say all the things she'd been unable to say to him up to this point. The reality of it was he didn't have a clue as to what to say to her, even if he'd been able to interrupt her. He didn't want her to leave, but what hurt more was seeing how lost she looked. She was locked into the horror of Stamper's actions, unable to free herself from that terrible night, and that was his fault.

Peter nodded, not knowing what else to do. She took him in her arms as gently as she could. She kissed him on the forehead, leaving her warm lips gently pressed against his skin. "I promise I'll come back to you. I'm sorry that I just can't be with you right now."

She kept her lips against his forehead, as if unable to pull away from him. He could smell her perfume and he closed his eyes, wishing she'd stay right there forever, but when he spoke, his words felt distanced from his feelings. "Go, Kel, go and do what you have to do. I'll be here when you get home. Just come back to me healthy and whole again."

She pulled away at last, and there was relief in her expression. She nodded and kissed him again, then he saw her relief fade away as it was replaced by guilt. "I'll call Annie when I get there to let her know I arrived safely and I'll call to check on you later on."

_'Yeah, Kel, but will you call to talk to me? Really talk to me? Will you call to say you're coming home, coming back to be with me, to be a couple as deeply in love as we were over a month ago? Will that happen? Or will you just leave me forever?'_ he asked himself, afraid to say the words out loud for fear of hurting her more.

Though he knew he had to look just as lost as she appeared to be right then, Peter strove to keep up a brave front for Kelly's sake, despite his doubts and fears. She'd been through enough already.

She glanced at her watch. "Damn, I'm going to miss my plane if I don't get moving."

Yet, she lingered. "You have the number to my parents' place if you need to get hold of me and of course you have my cell phone number... " she offered, obviously torn between meeting her own needs and her love for Peter.

Once her needs and her love for him had been the same thing, but now after Stamper's madness, she'd been emotionally ripped in two.

"Yeah, I've got them. Be well, Kelly. Take the time you need to work this out and when you get home, we can work on it some more," his flat tone told her. He was saying the right words, but it wasn't his heart speaking them.

"I love you," she said, beginning to cry again.

"I love you, too," he whispered back.

Suddenly, his sense of loss and guilt broke through the emotional barrier he'd just erected moments earlier, and a tear slipped down his cheek. She reached down and hugged him. After her lips brushed against his, he whispered, "Please come back to me."

She wiped away his tear with her thumb. "I will. I'll be okay. So will you. And we can put the pieces back together and get on with our lives," she said bravely, though this time the flat tone had jumped into her voice without warning.

The change didn't escape Peter's notice. He knew she had just lied to him, something she rarely did. And the lie told Peter that Kelly didn't really feel the confidence in their relationship she'd just spoken of. He nodded and glanced away as she gathered her purse and headed to the door.

Turning back, she whispered through more tears, "I'll call you."

He nodded again and then she was gone – gone, taking along his heart and soul in that jumbled handbag of hers.

He closed his eyes again and didn't open them for a very long time. Memories of Stamper and the aftermath with Kelly was enough to keep his eyes closed. The waking world was just too damned discouraging to be endured right then, and it was way too full of aching memories.

Perhaps, it was better to stay asleep, and allow the seductive call of narcotics lull him away from the waking world, away from those painful things overwhelming his life right then. Maybe it was just better to stay away from it all for a while.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	16. Chapter 16

1

**Chapter Sixteen**

"Hey, what the hell is the problem here?"

Distantly, Peter was aware of the familiar voice waking him from a sound sleep, but he couldn't place it as he tried to climb out of the narcotic haze which had held him within its grasp for the last week.

Ever since Kelly had left, Peter had been locked into a deep depression brought on by a multitude of problems. No one blamed him for being angry at the world after everything he'd been through, but he knew they worried over his present state of mind. That was, of course, only seen when he was awake and Peter worked hard to stay asleep as much as possible. It seemed to be his only defense against the pain of the waking world and the rage that coursed through his heart and soul.

At first, Peter tried to tell himself it would be okay. Kelly always had her moods and Peter had his, but they could usually set them aside and eventually talk through anything keeping them angry and apart.

Now, it felt like there was a wall between them bigger than the both of them. One side erected from Peter's guilt, and the other side built by Kelly's.

Poor Kelly, Peter thought, pulling his blanket tighter around him. He'd known fear like that after the temple had been destroyed and he'd been told his father was dead. That kind of fear often lost the ability to be defined after a certain point. It simply controlled everything – logical or not.

Peter sighed when he heard someone speaking to him again. "Oy, Peter, what have you done to yourself this time?"

This time, the voice was closer and sounded even more familiar. Curiosity got the best of Peter. He opened his eyes to see Eppy frowning at him. Patrick Michael Epstein, the man of a thousand rules, his old friend and first partner, had come to visit. Peter smiled weakly at him. "Eppy? What the hell are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? What am I doing here? Peter, I'm hurt," Epstein said, embellishing with his typical drama by placing his hand over his heart.

He raised his hands and curled his fingers to indicate visual quotation marks before continuing, "_'Mr. Newspaper Headlines, Lead Story of Every Damned Local Newscast for the Last Two Weeks'_ Peter Caine, has to ask me that?"

Peter laughed at hearing Eppy do what he did best, namely answer a question with another question. But the laughter awakened Peter's pain and he grabbed at his side with his good hand. The other one was still heavily bandaged from some recent surgery of its own and it rested against his chest.

Eppy's expression went from his typical long suffering partner demeanor – the one where he was in control of the world and all of its resident scumbags – to a man worried about his old friend and partner. When Peter had recovered, Eppy clucked his tongue and said, "You look like shit, Tomato Can."

"Thanks a lot, Eppy. You're the first to mention it... geez," Peter rasped as he complained, still rocking back and forth in an effort to ride out the pain.

Eppy's mood shifted, moving back to his usual mode of nonstop talking, giving Peter time to recover while he prattled on. "You know, I was thinking aloud when I came in here. I was wondering why you were in a regular room and not your own suite with a private nurse... "

Peter frowned with confusion. He looked up at him and asked, "I can usually follow you, Epstein, but what the hell are you talking about?"

Eppy smiled an evil grin. He rubbed his hands together and leaned closer to him. "Well, I mean, with all the times you've been in here, you'd think this hospital would keep a room ready for you at all times... you know, your own suite with a private nurse. Geez, Peter, with all the money they've earned off of you and your repeat business, you might even warrant your own ward."

Peter smiled, biting into his lip to keep from laughing again, but he could feel the unexpressed laughter relaxing his body. He shook his head slightly and sighed. It felt so good to be laughing. After Kelly had left, Peter wondered if he'd ever laugh again, but it had only taken a few days and Eppy to make it happen.

Eppy put his hands into his pockets. "Okay, so let's just say the hospital is run by greedy, ungrateful SOBs and leave it at that. I want you to give me the blow-by-blow on how you saved the day at the cabin. Man, when I train a detective, I train him right."

Eppy's voice dropped off as Peter reacted to his words.

_'Saved the day?'_ Peter thought incredulously. _'How could anyone possibly think I saved the day?'_ Kelly was gone and his father still hadn't shown up. And even though he'd had numerous visitors, he'd felt nothing but alone. So damned alone.

His chin began to tremble with a life of its own, and the smile Eppy had put on his face moments before vanished. Peter took a slow deep breath and let it out slowly. Out of the corner of one eye, he saw Eppy raise an eyebrow and frown, but he didn't care.

Nothing was ever going to be the same again. People were dead because of him, others seriously injured. It was like his whole life was a walking time bomb and perhaps it was better if Eppy just left before something happened to him, too. When he glanced at Eppy, he saw him just standing there, waiting for Peter to reply.

"Well? You obviously have something to get off your chest. Eppy's rule number four: Speak your mind...unless it will get you killed," Eppy said with a smirk.

Peter slammed a fist against the bedside railing. "You wanna know how I saved the day, Eppy? It's not a long story. Mainly, because I didn't do jack shit! I put my family and friends in danger! That's all I did! A big load of nothing! Nothing as I watched as a madman tried to destroy me and all I loved!"

As Peter struggled to regulate his breathing again, Eppy raised a hand to rub the back of his own neck and muttered, "Geez Louise, and I always thought my Jewish grandmother had the guilt market locked up with the way she doled it out to her family and friends, but you – you take it inside of you and let it build into a volcano the size of Mt. Vesuvius."

Peter shot Eppy a hostile look, one full of the rage and self-loathing, just a tiny glimpse of what was rumbling around inside of him. "What? I'm not making up a fucking thing. It's the goddamned truth in all its glorious splendor!" Peter yelled, as he held his aching side and rocked with the sudden burst of fire in his side.

Peter was finally saying aloud what had been brewing inside of his heart ever since he'd first awakened in the hospital. The sense of guilt and loss he'd felt was then compounded by the way his friends and family had doted over him, as if he were some grand soldier returning victorious from a great war. Finally, he'd stopped talking altogether.

Now, that all changed, Peter was ready to talk – no, more accurately, he was ready to vent. When Eppy didn't respond to his comments, Peter went on, "Eppy, if there was just one man in this whole damned world that I could depend on to give me an honest answer, it would be you. So, tell me if I'm wrong – if Stamper hadn't come after me, none of those people now dead and injured would have ever been in danger, right?"

Eppy paused, then put his hands on the railing of Peter's bed and narrowed his gaze. "Yeah, you might be right about that, and it's a very big 'might be', but what about this one? Without him coming after you, that jerkoff would have just snatched your girl and disappeared. Where would you have been then?"

He stared at Peter for a moment, then went on, "Up shit creek without a paddle, that's where you would have been, so count your lucky blessings that you were able to get her back from a life of hell before it happened. You could have just as easily been picking out her headstone for an empty grave."

Peter shifted, and his physical pain came alive after almost being ignored by his raw emotions. He closed his eyes until the pain eased off. When he opened them again, he saw Eppy's hands had left the railing, and the man looked as if he was ready to yell for a nurse.

"Damn it, I'm fine, Eppy! I'm just banged up, but fine. You've seen me worse than this and I was still able to bust the bad guys!"

Eppy eyed him closely, rubbing a thumb under his chin. "Okay, if you say so. At least for now."

Peter sighed and shook his head. "Eppy, I swear to you, I'm fine – unlike Kelly who had to fly home in order to get away from me and everything I brought down on her. That's what she had to do to restore her sanity. I mean, forget about us being in love. Forget that I might have been able to help her and together we could have healed each other's pain... just forget it all."

Peter sighed and ran a hand through his hair before it dropped to the bed. "And that's the end result of what that madman has done to us. He put a wedge between us the size of Philly. Frankly, I don't think there's anyway to get rid of it and go back to the life we had before Stamper, before the Shadow Assassins, before I fucking ruined everything."

Peter couldn't hold Eppy's gaze any longer and he glanced around the room, still fuming. Eppy moved closer, now leaning on the bed's railing with his forearms as he clasped his hands together. "Look, kid, I had a long talk with Blaisdell this morning. I know exactly what you've been through. That's why I'm here, checking to make sure you don't volunteer to do some prison time, just because you're feeling so damned guilty about this whole ball of wax."

There was a slight pause before Peter went on the attack again. "Okay, how the hell am I supposed to feel, oh wise one?" Peter quipped sarcastically, but there was no humor in his voice.

Eppy shook a finger in Peter's direction. "I know you. You're thinking you've done something so horrible that the whole town should stone you to death, but the pure and simple fact is that this shebang wasn't even your fault to begin with. You, my friend, were a victim in all of this. Not an instigator."

Peter's breathing was now rapid and shallow. All he could do was hold his side with good hand while his bandaged hand rested on his chest. If he'd been healthy, he would have been pacing, or maybe already out the door.

"Not my fault? Not my fault? How the hell can you say you know about everything that's happened and then say this wasn't my fault!"

Peter knew his face was red with anger while he sputtered and stammered on each word – not that it fazed Eppy. Not much ever did when Eppy was on a mission.

"Peter, shit happens. You either have to accept that as fact or they'll be requesting a transfer to a padded room upstairs for you in the psych ward. Listen, kid, you can't let the evil of the world stay with you. Sure, it's out there. We see it every damned day on the job, but if you let that shit take root inside of you, they win and you lose. You're a winner, not a loser, so get rid of it. Now."

Peter looked up at Eppy incredulously. When he finally spoke, he locked his gaze with Eppy's and he held on for all he was worth – mostly, because Eppy's words were as tempting as a life preserver tossed out at him in a storm as he struggled through the roughest seas he'd ever known.

After a very long moment, Peter looked down at the bed and whispered, "What if the evil is already inside of me?"

Eppy slammed one hand on the railing. "Then you kick it out like you would a thief inside your apartment. Grab it by the short hairs and toss it out! You wouldn't stand for that in your home and I sure as hell won't stand for it here!"

Peter blinked a few times and grimaced. "You just sounded like my father... well, a crude, cussing, streetwise version of my father, but the wisdom is the same."

When Eppy laughed out loud, it sounded sincere. "Me sounding like your father? Now, that's a load of bullshit if I ever heard one... " he paused, staring at Peter with a discerning eye. "You better now?"

Peter managed a wan smile and nodded. "Maybe I just needed someone to come in here and yell at me. Everyone's been walking on eggshells around me."

Eppy chuckled and shook his head. "That's me. Resident butt kicker. Eppy's rule number – "

"Please, not another rule," Peter begged with a smile, "Not right now."

Eppy shrugged. "Okay, you'll hear the rule next time. Right now, I've got some jerks to put away. Oh, you'd love these two... I call them Dumb and Dumber. It's amazing they are able to walk around on the streets, let alone pull a string of gas station robberies without already being arrested... "

"Go get 'em, Eppy," Peter said softly.

Eppy nodded as he turned toward the door. Glancing back at Peter, he asked, "You be sure to do what I said and you'll be out there busting jerks again real soon."

Peter couldn't meet Eppy's gaze as he gingerly rubbed his arm. "Yeah, sure, Eppy. Thanks for stopping by."

Eppy spun around and was back at Peter's bed before Peter could blink. "I'm not farting around here, kid. Take this to heart or I'll be back here haunting your every step and you sure as hell don't want that."

Peter reacted to Eppy's honesty, knowing the man would live up to his word. He glanced away and tried to respond with equal honesty. "I'm not sure I can do that, Eppy."

As Peter looked back at him, the older man had softened his angry exterior, giving Peter a rare glimpse into Eppy's heart, allowing him to see the true concern of a very complex man. Peter spoke while still staring into Eppy's penetrating gaze. "I really am trying to get past Stamper. Unfortunately, the man won't leave me alone, not even from beyond the grave."

The young detective ran a hand through his hair and then pulled on a fist-full of it in exasperation. "And then I think of Kelly's face, taut with fear from the nightmares Stamper and the Shadow Assassins have given her. It's almost like I put that fear in Kelly's face myself, Eppy. By not finding Kelly and Skalany sooner, by not remembering Kelly's old encounter with him, by not... "

"Shoulda, woulda, coulda," Eppy said softly. "The words of the past that we use to stab ourselves in the heart. Don't do this, kid. You've got to put it behind you. Beating yourself up will only cause that pain you're feeling to last a hell of a lot longer."

Peter rolled his eyes and his voice echoed with sarcasm as he said, "Oh, I take it that's from personal experience, Dr. Epstein Freud?"

"As a matter of fact, it is. I've never told this to anyone, Peter. My father, God rest his soul, got a simple domestic violence call that ended up with the deaths of five people. My father blamed himself for the death of each one of those five souls. It didn't matter the melee was already in progress when my poor father walked into it... "

Eppy's wandering gaze latch onto Peter's. "So, yeah, as a matter of fact, I do know about situations like you just encountered. My father never recovered from it, especially because three of the deaths were children who got caught in the crossfire and didn't make it. One night, my old man wound up eating his gun, because of it."

Peter felt his expression go slack and he stared at Eppy before he said, "Ah, shit, Eppy, I'm sorry. I had no idea. See, there I go screwing up again and hurting someone else I care about."

Peter closed his eyes and shook his head, only to have Eppy rap him on the skull. When he opened his eyes, he saw Eppy pointing a finger at him before he said,

"Ferget about it, kid. I know I have. It was a very long time ago. And nobody can change the past. You have to accept it and move on, or else you're stuck on the pity pot for the rest of your life."

Eppy walked to the window and looked outside. He turned around, but stayed in place, leaning against the window sill as he remained silent for another moment.

"I didn't share those things with you to make you feel worse, Tomato Can. Damn, but you can be dense at times. If you could walk, I'd have you out on the streets right now, helping me bust Dumb and Dumber, just so you could get a good laugh of justice in action, but you can't leave, and I can't bring them in here to arrest, so I guess we're stuck."

He sighed, and Peter heard the depth of Eppy's frustration in that sigh. Peter shook his head. "It's just not that easy, Eppy. I can't just let go of what I'm feeling because somebody tells me to."

Eppy walked closer to Peter. "And if it was your father saying it?"

Peter glanced back down at the bed. "My father's not here. He's with the Ancient on some damned quest. He's been gone over a month now and who knows when he'll return."

"Close your eyes," Eppy ordered.

"What?"

"Close your eyes. Come on, just do it. I'm not going to bite you or anything... geez!"

Taking a breath, Peter reluctantly closed his eyes as requested.

"Okay, now imagine whoever you want, your father or Blaisdell saying the same stuff I've been telling you."

Peter opened his eyes and glared at Eppy.

Eppy shrugged. "Kid, wisdom comes in many forms and many ways. You just have to keep your eyes and your ears open... and close off that damned bleeding heart of yours.

"Look, I don't have all the answers, but I've offered you the best ones I could think of. Maybe somebody else will say the words you need to hear. All I know is you've gotta let go of what you're holding onto or it's gonna crush you like an industrial strength trash compactor. And that would be a shame, and a terrible waste of a good cop... and a guy I wished I could have had as a little brother."

Peter glanced up at Eppy in shock. Eppy never opened up with him like he was doing now. Never. Eppy taught him the basics of surviving on the street, using his endless set of rules he thought a cop needed to stay alive, but he'd never said anything like this.

"Eppy," Peter started, when he finally found his voice again. "The only thing I can promise is that I will try to do what you suggested, but you're right about one thing. I have to find my own way through this. No one can just come in and say some magic words... and poof, I'm all better again. It just ain't gonna happen that way. No amount of wishing will change that – but I do promise to think about what you've said."

Eppy sighed, back at his side again by then. "I guess that's all I can ask for. That, and your promise to come by the house when you can for a good home-cooked meal. I'll cook, don't worry – I promise I'll cook. Nobody else can eat Vicki's cooking without winding up in the ER getting their stomach pumped."

Peter found his elusive smile again with Eppy's reference to his ex-wife's cooking. Eppy and Vicki were back together... again. And Peter was glad that Eppy had someone to go home to. The reunion seemed to have softened Eppy's harsher edges a bit. Peter was just noticing it for the first time.

As Peter stared at Eppy, sudden tears appeared in his eyes, but it didn't matter. Not with Eppy. "Thanks for caring enough to do what you just did. Like I said, nobody has argued with me since coming back from the cabin, let alone yell... "

Peter swallowed back his tears and drew upon strength he thought he'd lost over the last few weeks. "I will work on what you suggested. Now, get out of here and go fight some crime. Dumb and Dumber aren't going to wait forever, you know."

"Hell, they probably will. You've never met a pair as stupid as these two bozos."

Eppy smiled sadly and backed away. "But you're right, I need to go. Geez-Louise, you were about to get mushy and I was gonna get mushy back and Lord only knows what would have happened after that. Hell, I'm not looking for a relationship here. Being back with Vicky is working out just fine. I just want my old partner back in good shape and out on the streets again."

Peter had to chuckle as he wiped a hand over his face. "Go away already, Eppy."

"Yeah, I know. Places to go, people to see, things to do."

Epstein turned back from the doorway. "You sure you're gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, Eppy, I think I might get there."

"Good, I'll be by to check on you again, so you better get your butt in gear. I won't go soft on you next time."

Peter waved his hand, as if shooing motion, and Eppy chuckled as he left. "See you later, Tomato Can," he said with a wave of his own, and then went into the hallway.

"Later," Peter replied.

Peter closed his eyes and relaxed a bit. The people in his life who cared the most about him had been the very people he'd been pushing away – just like Eppy, but Eppy pushed back. Hard. Maybe it was just what he needed.

_'Then again,' _his heart whispered, _'you didn't push Kelly away. She ran away all on her own.' _

Peter sighed, knowing he couldn't blame her for leaving after all she'd been through, but her absence was worse than a festering infection in one of his wounds – worse because it was festering in his soul instead. And if allowed, it could destroy him.

He swallowed as he remembered Eppy's words. They were wise words, but words were easy to say, and easier to listen to, but applying them sometimes required a walk through hell.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	17. Chapter 17

1

**Chapter Seventeen**

"Stamper! Goddamn it, Stamper, don't do this! Run, Skalany, run! Please don't burn her! God, don't burn her! Skalany! Skalany!" Peter screamed as he tried to reach her to stop Stamper from torturing her any more.

Peter ran with all his might, but kept slipping in the mud and had to dodge the sudden fires breaking out all around him. He was moments away when Stamper's mad grin widened.

"Too late, po-lice-man! She's already dead!"

Peter looked and Mary Margaret was going up in flames, screaming horrifically, calling Peter's name, but he had failed her... failed to save her from the flames, and had failed to save her from Stamper. He'd failed her all the way through, along with Dodger, McMasters, and other four women the Shadow Assassins had killed. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he save those people, especially the ones he loved?

A new horror struck as he heard Kelly's screams begin. No, not her, too! God, not her, too! He stumbled from place to place, trying to save her and others, but always arriving moments too late. Suddenly, there were arms restraining him, forcing him to lie still, to stay in one place when friend after friend were dying because of him.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Once he'd exhausted his air with his scream, he opened his eyes to see Paul and Kermit kneeling beside him on the floor by his bed, both of them looking worse for wear. It had all been a nightmare. Another fucking nightmare. One that had awakened everyone in the cabin and left Peter weak and aching in its aftermath.

Closing his eyes, Peter rasped, "You can let go of me now."

His request was followed without hesitation. He had a sense that the room had become strangely silent now that his screaming had ended. He was discouraged and embarrassed that another nightmare had disrupted yet one more night's sleep at the cabin.

With Paul's help, Peter climbed back into bed, feeling ice cold from the experience. He pulled his tousled blankets closer around him in an effort to get warm. Paul finished the process by tucking him in and rubbing Peter's hands with his to bring some heat into them.

Somewhere in that process, Kermit had left the room and returned with a bottle of bourbon and three shot glasses. The man was pretty amazing, considering he was doing everything one-handed, one arm still restrained in an arm sling.

It was subtle, but after a moment, Peter realized Paul hadn't stopped touching him in one way or another, always maintaining a physical contact of some sort, just to let Peter know he wasn't alone. Kermit started to hand Peter a glass when Paul shook his head.

"Peter's meds," Paul whispered instead.

Kermit nodded. He set the glass of bourbon on the night stand and left to get the box containing Peter's medications.

Peter shook his head, mumbling, "I don't need that stuff... "

Paul gave Peter a discerning eye. "You do right now. You know you do, too, so just take them. I'm surprised the neighbors aren't calling from all the caterwauling that was going on before Kermit and I got in here."

Peter ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe coming back to the cabin so soon wasn't such a good idea."

Paul leaned closer, putting a hand around the back of Peter's sweaty neck. "It's like falling off a horse, son. You've got to get back on right away or you never will. You love this place. You always have. You and that lake bonded from day one in a way I'll never understand, which gives me hope that one day, you'll be able to think of coming up here without the thought of Stamper and his madness."

Peter's gaze searched Paul's, seeking strength, truth, and love – and he found all of those things and more staring back at him. Before he could speak, Kermit returned with the small box containing Peter's medications. Peter wrapped his arms around himself and rocked on the bed, trying to evade the memories of his nightmares there were still making his heart beat at a wild pace, while also riding out the physical discomfort he was in.

"God, it was all so damned real," Peter whispered as Paul counted out the necessary medication. "Everyone was dying and I couldn't save a single soul. Stamper was killing them all."

Peter's haunted gaze went up, searching for Paul's reassurances. "Even you... I couldn't even save you or Kermit."

Paul brought Peter into his arms and he tightened his grip when Peter shivered even more. "We're okay. Just keep remembering we're all okay."

Peter nodded, but when he closed his eyes he still saw them all going up in flame.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Paul embraced Peter and the depth of trembling in his son's body nearly broke his heart. Then again, since Peter had left the hospital, he'd worried for his son's sanity more than any physical recovery. Peter's body was healing at a good pace, but it was the emotional scarring that kept Paul up in the wee hours of the morning.

Peter took the medication from Paul without putting up a fight, which was a little strange. Tonight's nightmare must have been a doosie. Paul put away the box of pills. Peter used the drugs sparingly now, perhaps a little too sparingly when looking at the big picture. The kid had barely slept in the past week they'd spent at the cabin, but at least his physical injuries were improving.

After taking his meds, Peter stood, shakily at first, but Paul understood his need to move around and let him go. Paul gestured to Kermit with a jerk of the head, and the ex-merc left. Paul stood and followed Peter a ways as he slowly wandered around his room, stopping occasionally to touch a treasured item or a picture of the family.

When Paul couldn't stand the pathetic movements any longer, he spoke in a low tone, barely above a whisper so as not to startle the young man, "Peter, son, we've been through these types of nightmares before. And always, after a bit of time, they pass. You simply can't allow despair to take over. Remember, we did win the final battle with Stamper."

"Did we?" Peter asked, spinning around, a wild-eyed glint to his eyes. "Is Stamper really gone from our lives? Is that why Kelly can't face me and I can't call her, knowing that just by hearing my voice, I'll be bringing that madman back into her thoughts again?"

He started pacing again, faster this time. Paul sat on Peter's bed and patted the mattress. "Peter, please, come and sit beside me. I'm getting too old to follow you around at three in the morning."

Peter smiled sadly and nodded, returning to the bed, shaking his head as he sat beside him and whispered, "I'm sorry."

Paul was perplexed. "Sorry for what, son?"

"For dragging you and everybody else through this hell of mine. It's not fair for you or the others to have to put up with this kind of crap."

Paul put a finger to Peter's trembling lips. "No, it's not fair to you. And once you realize that these dreams of yours only hurt you, you will have a better footing to resolve them once and for all."

Peter watched him for a moment, then glanced away. "You make it sound so easy."

"Easy? Hell, no, not by a long shot. But doable? Definitely. Especially with those you love around you to help you through it."

Peter flinched and Paul knew he was thinking of Kelly again. He patted Peter on the leg and added, "She'll come around, too. She has to. She has no choice. She loves you too much not to come back."

Peter's eyes filled with tears and he reached forward to embrace Paul. Paul hugged him back with equal force as Peter sighed and said, "Thanks, Dad."

Paul knew Peter didn't think in terms of foster father or father. To Peter, Paul was simply father. And Paul suspected a father was the only medicine Peter Caine needed on that cold, lonely night.

**oOoOoOoOo**

It was a few days later. Paul noticed the dejected way Peter ambled down to the dock to where Paul sat fishing and reading. It wasn't often he was given an opportunity to catch up on his reading for pleasure, but he wouldn't exactly call what he was doing as pleasurable. It was damned cold outside. Winter was definitely arriving early. Soon, there would be ice and no chance to fish from the dock.

Paul's boat was back in dry dock, where it should have been all along. Paul had come outside early that morning and found Peter just staring at the boat, as if it were Willie Stamper reincarnated. Some days, it was the post in the yard or the outside cellar door. Just staring. Unmoving for who knew how long. Lost in the past. Unable to move forward in the present moment.

Paul's position on the dock was a deliberate one. He sat there fishing where Peter could see him and the water, knowing how the water always drew Peter close, no matter what the weather was. Perhaps, Peter would finally open up and talk a little more about the things bothering him.

Paul waved at Peter when he finally approached as he zipped up his jacket and turned up the collar, then he pulled a knitted cap over his head. Paul noticed how Peter was quick to put on his gloves and then he folded his arms in front of him for added warmth as he walked down to the end of the dock where Paul sat with his book, tackle box, and other fishing paraphernalia.

"Geez, it's damned cold out here. Catching anything?" Peter asked as he carefully sat down on the dock beside Paul.

"No, not much, but at least it's something relaxing to do."

Peter nodded in agreement, going silent for a long moment before he focused on the Grisham novel in Paul's gloved hand.

"Is your book any good?" Peter made a second awkward stab at small talk.

Paul sighed as he realized their relationship must have reached an all time low, if it had come to encompassing discussions of the weather, fishing, and good books.

Paul shrugged without emotion before tossing the paperback back into his tackle box.

Peter's gaze went out toward the lake and it took on that same hypnotic cast it always did whenever Peter was near the water.

"Did you talk to Kelly?" Paul asked after a bit, pulling his son back to the world around him.

Peter shook his head reluctantly, breaking whatever hold the water's spell had held over him. "Maybe later."

Paul sat for a moment, fiddling with his fishing gear. "So, when are we going to talk about what's going on between you two?" he asked softly, glancing over at Peter.

Peter tensed for a moment as a myriad of emotions washed over his ruddy features. Briefly, Paul was worried Peter would bolt and leave his question unanswered, but Peter finally grimaced and whispered, "What's to talk about? That's the whole problem in a nutshell – we aren't talking."

Paul let out a long breath and reached over with one hand to caress Peter's cheek. Peter leaned into Paul's gloved hand, closing his eyes as he reveled in his father's comfort. Paul chewed on his lip as he searched for the right words and direction to use. Paul leaned closer to Peter to catch his eye. "Talk to me, son."

Peter's chin trembled and he folded his arms in front of him again. Within seconds, Peter's gaze narrowed with anger and he pulled away from Paul's comforting touch. "It's no big deal really. Kelly will come home when she's ready. And if not, well, that's no big deal either."

Paul didn't say anything as he let his hand drop away. He went back to toying with his rod and reel, but from the corner of his eye, he gave Peter closer scrutiny. Paul knew Peter like the back of his hand. Peter's feelings were as mercurial as they'd ever been, Peter just needed to make his way through whatever was going on inside.

Paul pulled out a small thermos and handed it to Peter. "Pour me a cup, please."

Peter nodded, taking out two small plastic cups of coffee. He poured Paul a cup, then himself, settling into the task as it gave him something to do. Paul took his cup and sipped on it, giving Peter some time to speak without Paul prodding the information out of him.

Peter sighed finally and relaxed his stance. "I love Kelly, but I just don't know if we can ever get our lives back to what it was before Stamper, before the Shadow Assassins, way back before... "

"Relationships take time, son. Just give yourself the necessary time to recuperate while she's gone. You've both been to hell and back. By giving your body a chance to recover, you'll be in better shape when she gets back to focus on the two of you and getting back together. Focus on moving forward with your lives."

Peter toyed with his coffee cup, not really interested in its contents as much as the steaming heat it provided. "Kelly is so different than Tyler. Sometimes, the differences confuse me. Sure, Tyler would get so mad at me at times she couldn't think straight, but we could always sit and talk until our problems were resolved. With Kelly... it just isn't like that anymore."

Paul chewed at the inside of his cheek for a moment.

"Whatever happened with Tyler?" Paul asked, genuinely in the dark as to the details of Peter and Tyler's breakup. "You never went into specifics at the time and both Annie and I decided not to pry until you were ready to talk about it."

Peter shrugged gingerly, a gesture that seemed to protect his healing injuries, while also protecting his heart as well. "I guess the final death knell of that relationship came with that shoot-out at the Agrippa Club. Things were never the same for us after she saw the crazy antics I use when I'm on the job."

Paul chuckled despite himself. "Well, Peter, you did shoot four perps in the presence of a crowded night club while she was on stage singing."

Peter tapped his fingers on his thigh nervously, as distant memories seemed to haunt him anew. "Ancient history now. Tyler's moved on and so have I. Geez, I just want to talk to Kelly, I mean really talk to her again. It's as if I'm too frightening for her to consider at the moment... even on the phone. She's a cop for crying out loud. She understands the risks we all take on the job every day... but this has scarred her in ways she doesn't even understand."

Paul glanced at Peter and nodded. "Peter, just because we are cops doesn't mean we aren't still allowed to have our own feelings and emotions. She nearly died, nearly lost you, too. It all takes time to process and until then we just do the best we can with what we have."

Peter grunted. "Now you sound like our resident house psychologist."

The young man sighed and closed his eyes. "I honestly don't know if time will heal all wounds in our case, Paul. By giving it much more time, it might turn into too much time and that might just transform our relationship into a relationship of apathy and I just couldn't live with that. I love her too much for that to happen... and I hope she loves me enough to feel the same way."

Peter stood with careful grace and began to pace a little. Without turning back to Paul, Peter held his face to the wind and spread out his arms in the gliding breeze, as if he was more interested in the possibilities of flight than he was about talking about his relationship with Kelly anymore.

After a moment, his hands came down and he wrapped his arms back around himself again. When Peter spoke next, there was a defeated lilt to his words. "It all seems so pointless, Paul. You didn't see the fear in Kelly's eyes the morning she left me. You didn't hear it in her voice that day. I know she's talked to you, but not to me. Hell, we might already be beyond the point of no return."

Peter shook his head after a long silence. "Too much has happened, Paul. Too damned much... " He sighed. "I don't think we'll ever be able to work things out."

Paul didn't argue with him. Now wasn't the time for arguments. He watched as Peter's gaze went out over the water again. There was something troubling Peter deep inside, as if it wasn't just his tumultuous relationship with Kelly that troubled him.

"Son, sometimes the only way things can go right is by first going very wrong, if that makes any sense."

Peter paused, contemplating Paul's words, then he shook his head. Paul had a feeling what was going on for Peter, but he gave him the necessary time to organize the words that needed to come out. Finally, they came.

"I – I keep thinking my father will show up. That he'll just step out of a shadow and know exactly what Kelly and I need to do to fix things. You know what I mean, he'd know just how to bring us back to where we were before this nightmare started. He'd know how to fix everything that's happened in the last few weeks."

Paul didn't say anything. Peter was opening up to him and he was determined to let him have his say. As Peter spoke, he sat beside Paul again.

"But he hasn't shown up... so much has happened and not a sign of him. I mean, I nearly died... more than once, and no Pop. Why?"

Paul took his time to set aside his fishing rod, propping it up between some planks on the dock before he turned back to Peter. "Why what?"

Peter blinked back hot tears as anger took over again. "Why the hell isn't he here when I need him the most?"

Paul patted Peter's thigh, leaving his hand there to comfort Peter. The truth was Paul had been asking himself the very questions. "There are no easy fixes for what you've been through, Peter. Deep down, you know that. Maybe, he hasn't shown up, because you need to be able to find your own way through this, like you told Eppy. No one else can change the way you feel except yourself. Maybe the answer lies there."

Peter sighed and closed his eyes, but didn't say anything. Paul continued, "You have survived so much, son, but you aren't done yet. Not until you find your own answers to those troubling questions you've been asking. I can try to help. Kermit, too. And your father might be able to see into your heart and tell you what to do. But... maybe you need to find the way yourself this time."

Paul ran a hand through his thick graying hair in much the same manner as his foster son would do. "That's not to mean you have to find them alone, but in your own way. You'll never be alone as long as you've always got us around, but I do think the only way for you to find your path lies within you."

He glanced at Peter. The young man had grown quiet. In the absence of any response, he kept on going, just saying whatever came to mind and he prayed he had the right words to say.

"Peter, in my own life, I have discovered one thing. Sometimes, the way just isn't clear. Our lives and our minds can become clouded and confused. Hell, sometimes, we don't even know what that next step will look like, or from what direction it will come from."

He put a hand on Peter's arm and looked up at him, meeting his gaze. "The right way will show itself to you in time. The next step shall be revealed. We don't have to know all the answers right away. Trust in that."

Peter stared at Paul for a very long moment , then he sighed and knelt down closer to him. "You know, maybe, I don't need my father around for the right answers after all. Maybe, it's just like Eppy said, wisdom can come from many sources and many people if I keep my eyes, ears, and heart open."

Peter glanced away, but kept his head close to Paul's. "You've always been a source of wisdom for me, Paul. It's just sometimes I forget how wise you truly are. Forgive me for forgetting. And forgive me for not trusting in you more. Maybe it's time for the prodigal son to honor those who never gave up on him."

Paul pulled Peter into a hug when he couldn't find the words to reply. Peter hugged him once more before he finally stood and said, "I'm going to go for a walk... I think I just need some time alone. I know I won't find all of the answers today, but being with you has helped a lot. Just like being with you usually does. Thanks for that. Maybe we can talk some more after dinner."

Paul frowned and looked up at Peter. "Are you sure you want to be alone? You're still pretty weak and it's starting to get dark. I'm not sure I like the idea of you on your own right now."

Peter laughed. "You just said... "

"Damn it, I know what I just said, but I was speaking metaphorically, and mind you that's something I'm not used to doing."

Peter kissed Paul on the top of his head. "My father has said where there is peace and meditation, there is neither anxiety nor doubt. Maybe that's where I should start, if I'm to ever find my way."

Paul reached up and took Peter's hand, giving it a good squeeze. "You don't have to start searching for your path today, you know. Be easy on yourself, son. You've been through a lot."

Peter's gaze turned sad as he replied softly, "So have you. So have all of us. No, it's time to start looking."

He sighed and squeezed Paul's hand still holding his. "I promise I won't go far. I'll find a place where I can sit and try to meditate."

Then he let go of Paul's hand. "Maybe it's time to make my peace with what's happened. Then, maybe... I can start living again."

Paul struggled to find something to say to make Peter stay, but everything he came up with would have sounded contrived. "Okay, son, just don't make us come looking for you like you're some twelve-year old child."

There was a twinkling in Peter's eyes as he heard Paul's admonition. "I promise to be home before dark, Dad. And by the way, I love you too, very, very much."

Peter started back down the dock, but he never left Paul's thoughts. Paul tried to resume his previous activities, but took him a two full minutes before he realized he was trying to read his Grisham novel upside down. That was when he tossed it aside and focused his attention solely on Peter and his fishing. It was a much simpler endeavor.

**oOoOoOoOo**


	18. Chapter 18

1

**Chapter Eighteen**

Paul was still sitting on the dock fishing when Kermit walked out, looking for a place to sit beside him.

"Permission to come aboard, sir?" Kermit joked and held a hand to his forehead awaiting permission.

Paul grunted. "The company here isn't very good at the moment," he muttered, never taking his eyes off of Peter as he walked along the shoreline heading away from the cabin.

Kermit didn't miss a beat. "Did I ask to come aboard for good company? Hell, my own mood is rather dark at the moment. We could just sit and commiserate for a while, if it would make you feel better."

"Misery loves company?" Paul asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Exactly," Kermit pronounced as he handed Paul a mug of steaming coffee, then carefully sat down on the edge of the dock. "I brought us some real coffee, not that stuff you have sitting in that ancient thermos of yours."

Paul took a sip and raised an eyebrow. "Irish coffee, I take it?"

"Just a nip to ward off the cold," Kermit said with a smirk as he got situated, then he asked, "So, I take it the kid's still battling his inner demons?"

Paul chewed on his lip for a moment. "More like he's battling his destiny and that's never been his strong point."

"Rykker likes to say destiny is what you're supposed to do in life and fate is what kicks you in the ass to make you do it. Maybe that's exactly what Peter's doing right now, working through fate and destiny to find his place in the grand scheme of things."

Paul smiled, glancing at Kermit. "Ah, a zen ex-mercenary. I didn't believe they still existed... "

"We are a dying breed," Kermit quipped as he took a sip from his steaming mug.

"Yet, a noble one," Paul said as he laughed.

Trying to turn the attention away from him, Kermit asked, "Peter looked pretty grim from where I sat on the porch."

Paul sighed. "He's having a tough time of it. Now that the physical injuries aren't as much of an issue, it's the emotional yo-yo rides he's put himself through about Kelly."

Paul sighed and toyed with his fishing line for a moment. "Peter's weathered so much in his life. I know this is just one more bump in the road for him, but I think the timing of it all stinks. Just when Peter and Kelly needed to get away and spend some quality time together, this Stamper thing happens. Now, their relationship may be beyond repair."

"Kelly isn't the easiest person to get along with," Kermit muttered.

"Neither is Peter. Or you for that matter," Paul said with a smirk, and then he sighed. "Maybe it's time those two parted ways. I don't know. Time will tell. Meanwhile, how are you feeling?"

Kermit frowned at him. "Paul, I certainly hope you realize it's not up to you to save everyone around you. My ribs and collarbone are fine. They hurt like hell, especially with the change in temperature to colder weather, but I'll be fine. Peter will be fine and Kelly will be fine. Maybe not together as a couple but they'll be fine. The whole goddamned world will be fine! Sometimes, you need to forget you're a police captain responsible for the lives under your command and just relax. Try to remember what it's like just being a friend, a dad, and a husband."

Paul stared at Kermit for a long while. "You know, sometimes you make a hell of a lot of sense."

"I do most of the time. It's the zen ex-mercenary in me. You're just too busy to hear me pontificating."

Paul laughed out loud. "Oh, I hear you, Kermit, my old friend. It's just that I'm so shocked whenever you come out of your office to interact with the world that I lose the ability to listen to bullshit," he gave Kermit a mischievous smile before continuing, "Here's my piece of advice to you: Get out of your office more and start mingling with the rest of the world."

"I don't like most of the rest of the world," Kermit responded.

"Sure, sure, you don't. For someone who can't stand most people, you sure get pretty involved in their lives."

"Only the good ones, Paul. Only the ones truly deserving of it. The rest of them aren't worth wasting my time on. Besides, it's just possible one day that I'll wind up on the other side of those prison bars for ending the life of someone like Stamper – just because I was trying to interact with the rest of the world."

"No, you won't, mostly because the zen ex-mercenary in you won't allow it. You only shot Stamper to put him out of his misery. There was no way he'd ever recover from burns like that. You know, you've changed since you've been at the precinct, Kermit, and for the better, I might add."

Kermit paused and gave Paul a strange glance. "I think you've been spending too much time around Peter's father. You're starting to sound like him."

Paul smiled. "That wouldn't be such a bad thing. I just wish Caine would spend more time around that boy, but that's for another time and another discussion. Not while Peter is so close by."

Kermit shrugged. "Peter's stronger than you think. He'll survive his father's absences. He'll survive his encounter with Stamper and others like him. He's a survivor. Always has been and always will be."

Paul tensed with sudden anger. "He may survive them, but I think the scars from this encounter will linger with Peter for a very long time to come. Thank God, Eppy was able to get through to him. I was running out of ideas of how to break Peter out of that wall he had erected around himself."

Just then, Paul thought he felt a tug on his pole and slowly began to reel the line in. He stopped talking in order to concentrate on his fishing line. Kermit sat there, watching Paul work the rod and reel. "Epstein sure didn't look happy after he came out of your office that day. You said he had some good news about Peter, but it wasn't evident in the way he moved."

"No, no, I don't think it was."

The tugging ceased, so Paul let the line play out a bit more and turned to Kermit. "When Eppy came inside and closed the door to my office, you would have thought he'd come to confess killing Peter. The man was that upset. It took a while, but I got the whole story out of him."

"What was going on?"

"He had to pull out all of the stops to get through to Peter. A little like you've had to do with me in the past, and like I've had to do with you. It's not fun playing the bad guy with a friend, getting them riled up enough so they can actually listen to what you are trying to say."

Kermit shook his head. "No, it's not. It feels a hell of a lot like you should hire someone to kick in your front teeth by the time you're done."

"Exactly."

Kermit shifted carefully, guarding his injuries. "Too bad we didn't figure out earlier on that Peter's stalker was really after Kelly. It would have saved a lot of trouble in the long run."

"Shoulda, woulda, coulda," Paul said softly as he locked his rod.

"Huh?" Kermit asked.

"Nothing, just thinking aloud."

Suddenly, there was another tug on Paul's fishing line. Paul smiled and began to reel his fish in when his cell phone rang. He handed the rod to Kermit and pulled out his phone. Kermit awkwardly worked to reel in the fish with one arm in a sling.

Paul pulled out a net and held it ready as he heard Annie's voice. She started right in talking as if she were sitting across the breakfast table from him, "Hi, honey, how's it going up there?"

"How's it going?" he repeated her question as he moved the net closer to Kermit while Kermit reeled in a bass that flopped high into the air, and then over into the net.

"Well, I was just having a discussion with Kermit on that very topic. Life goes on, my dear. Through good times and bad times, life goes on. Peter will figure out what he needs to figure out. Kermit has recovered enough to be acting like Kermit Griffin should be acting. And I just caught the biggest bass I've caught in months. Life goes on."

"Hey, I reeled that fish in," Kermit said loud enough for Annie's benefit.

"Yeah, but I caught it. Let's just say it was a team effort. As usual."

"Oh yeah," Kermit said with a smirk.

Paul chuckled as he listened to Annie talk in the background. Kermit got up and handed Paul his fishing rod, and then took the net with their fish still in it. He headed back up to the cabin without another word, affording Paul some privacy to speak with his wife.

Paul couldn't help, but notice how Kermit walked slowly enough to look around for Peter as he went.

"What's that, Annie?"

Annie's chuckle made him smile with its sound. She took a deep breath before continuing, "I just said I believe you are correct. Life does go on. Through the good times and bad, it goes on. Even so, I miss you terribly."

"Hey, I tried to talk you into coming on this trip with us."

"I know you did, and I would have come except for the fact that you boys needed some male bonding time with Peter."

"I love you, honey," Paul said after a moment, appreciating her wisdom.

"And I love you, too. Now, go take care of my boys. They need lots of TLC right now."

"And I don't?" Paul asked with mocked disappointment.

"Oh, you'll get yours when you get home, man of my life."

Paul smiled. "I'll talk to you later, hon. Meanwhile, I've got a huge fish to clean for supper." He hung up, then got up to follow Kermit back to the cabin.

**oOoOoOoOo**

Peter strolled along at a leisurely pace, following the edge of the lake before stopping to sit on a large rock. He sat, just peering over the water, seeking solitude in its vast serenity, but the solitude came slowly and serenity's foothold was only a crack in the great aching of Peter's heart.

After a while, he'd become so lost in the allure of the water that when he shifted, his side began to ache from his slouched position, so he straightened and it eased off some. The bruising and stiffness from the other injuries were healing, slowly but surely.

Peter wouldn't have minded the physical pain nearly as much if his heart didn't ache, too. Paul and Kermit did their best to help him through this tough time, but they weren't his father and Caine was the man Peter needed most right now.

Peter sighed, wondering why he spent so much time wishing for the presence of a man who seemed to disappear at the drop of a hat. No, that wasn't fair. His father was usually there when he needed him, but he really needed him now and he was off with Lo Si on some damned quest**.**

He shook his head in dismay. He had pointed to the absences of Kelly and his father to explain why he was so mad, but they weren't the true source of his anger. That resided with a dead man who had nearly killed his friends, his lover, and himself.

A bird flew overhead, cawing as it dove into the water, surprising Peter. When it returned to the air, it had a fish in its claws. It was a display of the raw side of nature, of the strongest capturing the weaker, of the eternal cycle of life. One life feeding on another as it moved up the food chain. No other creature on earth killed simply for the pleasure of killing except man. The possibility that Stamper might have managed to kill Mary Margaret, Kelly, and the rest of the team at the cabin left him sick.

He started to stand, but slipped on the mud drying in the wintry sun, and fell, hitting the ground hard. In a flash of rage, he rose to his knees and began throwing away the things he'd fallen on... rocks, branches, whatever was accessible to him that he could put his hands on until he finally collapsed at the water's edge in pain, gasping for air.

"God, Pop, where the hell are you? Don't you know I need you know more now than ever?" he said through tightly clenched teeth.

When there was no answer, he wrapped his arms around his waist and tears of frustration began to fall. He sat up suddenly when a distant sound kept repeating in his head.

"Peter?"

Peter raised his head following the sound of the whispers and saw an ephemeral image of Caine appearing above the sun-rippled lake. Shocked, Peter crawled forward until he rested on his knees.

"Pop? Is that really you?" he asked.

"Yes, Peter, I have felt your pain, both in mind and body, but I've been unable to speak directly to your mind for some reason."

Gasping for air, Peter crawled closer to the image. "Pop? I mean – Dad, you're here. You must be close by."

Caine shook his head sadly. "No, our travels have taken us far from you. We will not be able to return for another week at least."

Peter's shoulders slumped as Kwai Chang kept speaking, "But your torment reached through my meditation and I knew I had to speak with you, to reach through your anger and despair and I finally managed to succeed."

Peter's mood turned dark. "It's okay, Pop. If you can't make it, you can't make it. Don't rush on my account. I'm healing and will be back to normal soon. Don't worry about me. I've been on my own before and made it through just fine. Just come back whenever. I'll be around. I learned early in life to depend on myself. I'll get through this, too, without your mystical tricks. Use your worry and concern for someone who really needs it."

Caine's image loomed right in front of Peter. "And this angry streetwise facade also helped you to survive against Stamper? It might be effective in certain situations, but not now, my son."

Peter shrugged, hiding his discomfort that came with the movement.

"Peter, I can feel your aching heart despite the vast distances that separate us. If I could have been there to prevent that man's attack on you, I would have, but it was not possible. Fate had other lessons in mind for you to learn."

"Learn?" Peter asked as his anger grew. "You call almost dying several times a lesson? Do you call Kelly and Skalany almost dying another lesson? Oh man, you are really whacked! I just never saw it so clearly before!"

When Caine's words came again, they were spoken in quiet confidence. "The lesson you learned comes from watching shadows in flames, which is a very dangerous endeavor. Most people only see the brightest flames and feel its heat, but you, my son, saw the shadows within the flames firsthand... and the shadows are far more frightening than any fire could ever be.

"You defeated those shadows when they sought to destroy you. Not many survive a battle with flaming shadows, but you did, my son. It was not without heavy sacrifice and nearly the loss of your own life. Think of your exhausted spirit now as having been burned by the flames. It will take time for that spirit to heal from those burns, but it will, even as the Phoenix rises from the ashes."

"Pop, how can you know so much about what happened when you weren't even here?"

"But I was with you in spirit. I traveled to be with you in my mind when I felt the great aching of your heart. Though I could not speak with you directly, I lent you my chi on several occasions. Still, I was afraid my actions would not be enough, especially when fighting shadows and flames, but you made it through. Your spirit still feels pained and that is why you have sought out the water, for it has the ability to squelch the heat still tormenting your spirit. Dip your wings down into the water and come up renewed."

Peter bent low from his waist, leaning into the sand of the shoreline. Tears filled his eyes and his anger began to swell. The gently lapping water of the lake swept in suddenly, washing over Peter's face and clothes. Cursing at first, Peter stopped and remembered what his father had just told him. _'Dip your wings down into the water and come up renewed.'_

Well, he was certainly soaked, he thought with a smirk. Time will tell if the water will cool his seared spirit. When he looked up, he expected his father's image to be gone, but instead there it was, still waiting for him.

"Peter, as I have said before, I lent you my chi many times since your ordeal began to give you additional strength and stamina, but what you need now isn't additional physical strength. You need to mentally pull yourself back from the shadows and the flames."

Peter glanced up, brushing away the sand from his chin. "How – how do I do that?"

"By latching onto all that is good within your life. By embracing those you love, those you cherish, sometimes it's something as simple as the pleasure derived from watching the lake waters. Latch onto those dear things and pull them close to your heart. Be grateful for everything, because it is impossible to lose hope when you are filled with gratitude.

"In the discovery of gratitude, you will see your proper path and will be able to start upon it on your own. The process will not be quick, and anger will often raise its ugly head, but step-by-step, you will find your way by acknowledging the anger within you, and then releasing it. You will become stronger for the experience and for all you have learned in the process."

Caine's hand reached forward in a familiar gesture and Peter waited for the tap on his cheek, but the hand simply passed through Peter's chin in a ghostly fashion. Caine shrugged sadly before folding his hands in front of him. "We shall return as quickly as possible."

"I love you, Pop." Peter volunteered, afraid the image over the lake waters would vanish before he had a chance to say that. "And I'm sorry about yelling at you."

"And I love you... the love I felt coming from you kept me from hearing your anger. All I saw was pain, but you will get past that in time. My son, I will love you forever – no matter how many times you call me Pop."

Then the Shaolin priest was gone. Peter got to his feet, looking around for any lingering sign of his father, but there was nothing. Nothing but him and the quiet waters of the lake. And even the lake's shimmer seemed to have lost its magical hold over him.

Peter cursed under his breath in a sudden flash of anger and threw the one thing he had in his pocket... only to see his cell phone fly through the air. It landed on a pad of moss and bounced a few times. Peter scurried over to it and knelt to pick it up. When he did, he heard a voice speaking on the line.

Peter held the cell phone loosely in his hand, reading the name and number listed on the display, and cursed his bad luck once more.

"Hello?" he heard again.

Peter looked at the cell phone as if it was a time bomb without saying a word to the questioning hello on the other end of the connection.

"Hello? Peter, is that you? Are you okay?" she asked, fear creeping into her voice.

Peter was caught in indecision, then he cursed under his breath and held the phone close to his ear, then he answered, "Kelly? Yeah, it's me. I'm sorry, I dropped my phone. Somehow, it dialed your number. Fate, I guess."

Kelly laughed. "Well, I'm glad fate had more nerve than either one of us did. God, I've missed you so much."

"And I've missed you even more than that."

Kelly chuckled softly and it was music to Peter's ears. She continued, "But I'd swear it sounded like you were cursing right before you started talking."

Peter smiled and reclined on the pad of cool moss. "Now, why would I do a silly thing like that?" he asked, his voice growing velvety soft.

"Oh, I don't know," Kelly said, "Maybe it's that famed Peter Caine craziness. That same craziness that saved my life and Skalany's and almost took yours in the process." She sighed at the end and Peter knew he had to pounce on Kelly's guilt and fears or he'd lose her to a quick goodbye.

"Kelly, I'm still at the cabin with Paul and Kermit. I'm taking a little time to heal and get my head back on straight again. I hope you are doing the same thing at your folks."

Kelly sighed. "I'm trying, but it's so hard to get Stamper and the Shadow Assassins out of my head."

Peter heard the despair still strong in her voice and decided to try his father's recent tactics. "Kelly, if I was as wise as my father, I'd say to not focus on the shadows of a pathetic life like Stamper's. Instead, focus on the bright flames of the love of those in your life. Appreciate each one for all of the good they've given you over your life – only by latching onto the good can you let go of Stamper's evil. Put him in the back of your thoughts until he is pushed away by better things... like you and me taking a vacation together. How does Hawaii sound? Or the Caribbean?"

Peter smiled at Kelly's squealing reaction.

"Focus on the good, Kelly, and we will get through this together. We will."

"Oh, Peter, I'm so glad you called. I was so worried about you, but every time I started to call you, I was afraid we'd wind up hurting each other's feelings and I just couldn't stand that, so I would hang up. I love you. You know how much I love you."

"And I love you too, Kelly. Listen, we should be going home on Monday. Maybe... "

Kelly rushed to answer him. "I'll book a flight home for Monday, too. It's time for me to come home. Besides, I want you in my arms – I want us to be good again."

"It will be, Kelly. We love each other too much for it not to be good."

"I can't wait to see you. Look for me late afternoon at the apartment."

Peter swallowed back tears of relief. "I'll be there, Kelly, and then we can make plans for the future. Love you."

Peter sighed and put the cell phone back into his pocket. So much could have gone wrong with their encounter with Stamper, yet so much didn't. His father used to say, "Look with your inner eye."

_'Look with your inner eye,'_ Peter repeated in his thoughts.

He sat down on a rock and closed his eyes, breathing as deeply as he could.

_'Look with your inner eye.'_

His thoughts wandered back to the orphanage and the cynical child he'd become after losing his loving father and the other Shaolin monks. Growing up with the Blaisdells had started the process of losing that cynicism and latching on to hope again. His father's miraculous return from the dead had helped it along much more. And being with his father and Lo Si had allowed more of his training from the temple to reemerge and take hold in his life again. Finally, he was beginning to feel whole again, for the first time since before the temple's destruction.

He could have let Stamper's madness destroy what he'd rebuilt – in fact, he nearly did, but somehow he'd survived. Looking at those long ago lessons now through the eyes of a grown man, he finally began to understand some of the wisdom that had baffled him before. Maybe he could find his own path after all. Maybe, it had been there all along, he merely had to listen to his heart in order to find it.

There were so many people with strengths filling his day-to-day life, just as Eppy had said. They'd been there all the time, but he hadn't fully appreciated them until now.

He started back for the cabin, hearing Paul and Kermit laughing in the distance and he paused. He took a deep breath and let it slowly, letting all that he'd been through in the last month wash over him again. As he raised his head, he realized life was starting to return to normal and he reveled in that moment of discovery.

He heard Paul and Kermit joking with each other again. His surrogate father and brotherly friend who'd walked through fire for him. They'd all walked through the flames of Stamper's madness and survived. None of them were left the same as they'd been before, because madness often leaves one staring into the abyss, wondering what would cause one man to go insane and another to remain the same.

Peter had spent a lot of time as he recovered staring into the shadows of darkness, trying to get a better picture of what had happened, but he should have been looking to the cleansing power of the flames of love. Stamper had said the flames purified. Maybe he was right. Maybe the flames of love had the power to purify and cast off all of the negative shadows of life.

Stamper had done what he did, because he'd always lived in the shadows, never seeing the true power of love – a fire that burned without burning. Lost in the shadows, Stamper had died in a fiery device of his own making, never seeing the true power the flames possessed, namely the ability to cast away the shadows of the spirit.

Peter glanced up when he came out of the path that skirted the shoreline and saw the cabin in the dim light of evening's approach. The sight made him stop and appreciate what had nearly been taken from him. So much had happened at this place, but when he looked at the cabin now, all he saw were the cascading memories of a thousand good times spent there. He heard Paul's voice resonating as he cleaned a big fish on a makeshift table, then he said something to Kermit who sat on the porch swing. Whatever Paul had said made them both laugh.

Yes, Peter was looking at the best kind of healing life could offer, and it was the very love he'd recklessly pushed away. And maybe that was the lesson he was supposed to gain from so much hate and vengeance, so much anger and pain – to never forget the awesome healing power of love.

Paul had been wrong when he'd told him he wouldn't find his answers overnight. Somehow, it had happened within minutes. Well, he hadn't found all of the answers he was seeking, but he had found answers to some of the really important issues.

Now, it was time to get back to the business of living – and leave the shadows and flames to those who couldn't turn back from the abyss. Peter approached the brightly lit cabin. It was time to embrace those he loved, and get on with the business of living.

**oOoOoOoOo**

**The End**


End file.
